Dear Diary
by gravity01
Summary: Against my better judgment I am starting this journal. As a habit, I don’t like to write things down. The concept of having tangible proof of my innermost thoughts is unsettling to me. What if someone reads this? I know it’s cynical… but I have never had
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera_**

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To whom it may concern:

**Against my better judgment I am starting this journal. As a habit, I don't like to write things down. The concept of having tangible proof of my innermost thoughts is unsettling to me. What if someone reads this? I know it's cynical… but I have never had a good experience with leaving evidence of my feelings.**

**When I was younger, I wrote a letter to Raoul confessing to him my undying devotion only to have it intercepted by one of his friends and read aloud to the whole group of boys… one of the most mortifying experiences of my life. I was thirteen, and it was a silly crush… but at the time I was devastated. Oh, Raoul… I wonder whatever became of him? When he moved away, I was certain the world would end. **

**Once I wrote a letter to friend telling her of my plans to sneak out of the house. My father found it first and my friend and I were both punished. Father… I miss him so… **

**Actually, he is the reason I am keeping this journal. I'm afraid I haven't been doing well since his death. Mama Valerius thinks I am bottling up my emotions. She is probably right. She is such a good woman. She has such a wonderful sense of humor… and she always seems to find the positive side of every situation. Lately she has been ill and I think her mind is not what it used to be, but she keeps such a good attitude that it's impossible to feel sad for her. I hope some of that has rubbed off on me over the years. I would be lucky to turn out like her. Anyway, when she asked me to start keeping a journal, I couldn't offer much of a fight… she's been nothing but kind to me and I don't have the right to refuse something so simple when she believes it is for my own good. **

**My hand is hurting. I suppose I've shared enough feelings today.**

**-Christine**


	2. Chapter 2

**Journal,**

**I saw Raoul today. It was quite unexpected.**

Christine had been living with Mamma Valerius in France for some time now. She still had hopes of entering the Conservatoire at the opera--more to please Mamma and her father, since she no longer had the passion for singing that she once had. However, for the time being, she needed to work since the money left to them from the late Prof. Valerius would not last forever and Mamma's mind was not as sharp as it once was. Luckily, there was an inn nearby that was looking for some help with meals and housekeeping.

**I was at the inn at suppertime when a group of young men came in. Apparently they were spending a few nights out before starting their service in the navy. I imagine they had some other, less-honorable activities in mind and needed a place to stay for the few hours that weren't spent drinking and… well, I imagine it is improper to speculate on such things, so I'll leave it there. Anyway, none of that is of consequence to this story. The important part is that Raoul was among them.**

"Christine?" called the young man. He saw a pretty young woman busily flitting about doing little chores here and there. He almost didn't recognize her. Her light blond hair was tied up high and out of her face--she had traded her twin stick-braids for a much more mature hair style. Her skinny, uncoordinated arms and legs were replaced with soft, feminine curves. She was no longer the awkward thirteen year old girl she once was. But, when she turned around, he saw her eyes--the same stormy blue eyes that he remembered three years ago… the same eyes he saw in his dreams every night. It was then that he recognized his Little Lotte.

She looked up from the pot she was stirring and smiled widely when she recognized her old friend.

"Raoul!"

"How have you been? What have you been doing?"

**We talked a little bit before dinner. He is looking well; he is going to be a junior in the navy. I'm happy for him. **

They only had a few minutes to catch up since Christine was busy with the guests and with dinner, but Christine did her best to give him a quick run-down of the last few years. Her eyes darkened slightly when she told him of her father's death, but then she smiled in a weak attempt to cover it up. As she turned back to her work, she promised him that she'd come talk to him again as soon as she had a free minute.

**At some point during dinner, a few rowdy guests (which I gather were some of his companions) started to argue. I stepped in and stopped the fight before it got out of hand. **

As Christine was serving bowls of stew to the guests in the dining room, a young man was standing beside the table talking animatedly about some recent bar fight. Most of the men listen attentively, shouting words of encouragement at high points in the story. However one man--a large, burly character--was not so easily convinced.

"James, you liar! You couldn't take on one man let alone three. Quit your bragging and go back home to your mother!"

At this point, both men were standing and glaring at each other dangerously. The other men, hoping for a fight, just egged on the two. Threats ensued on both sides and it seemed the men would resort to blows. Raoul moved to break the men up, but one angry look from the two of them was enough for him to back away. Noticing that Christine was still in the room, he made his way towards her to usher her out the door before things got out of control. She shrugged him off, handed him the pot she was holding, and boldly walked up to the unruly gentlemen.

Walking first to the smaller man, she put her small hand to his arm and laughed, "Oh James, do sit down. Is this really something worth fighting for?" Then she leaned closer and said so only he could hear, "You know what really happened, and its obvious that everyone else here believes you. Can't that be enough? Be the bigger man and don't let him get to you." He looked at her uncertainly and, after a growl and glare in the direction of the other man, he sat down.

Seeing this, the larger man began to taunt him.

"See how the coward backs down to a woman?" he said loudly. James stood again but Christine placed a reassuring hand on his arm before confidently moving towards the larger man.

"And you!" she shouted pushing him roughly on the chest. Though he was a giant, she caught him off balance and he fell into his chair. Stunned that the little woman had knocked him over, it took him a few seconds to retaliate. A few seconds was all she needed as she continued her tirade.

"You should know better! Sit back down, drink your ale, and mind your own business!" Red faced, he opened his mouth to speak when she beamed her most charming of smiles… seemingly to let him know she was only joking.

"Besides," she teased coquettishly , "I'd hate to have to throw you out!"

His arm snaked around her waist and he made some suggestive innuendo towards her. She smacked his arm playfully and squirmed out of his grasp. Raoul's fists clenched--whether out of protectiveness or jealousy he wasn't sure.

"Now, now. I want nothing to do with a man who can't behave himself," she said as she floated gracefully out of the room. The men roared with laughter and the meal continued as if nothing had happened.

**It seemed the natural thing to do to put out a fire before it got big… but, for some reason, Raoul was amazed. He's a charming guy, and easily impressed.**

Raoul was utterly flabbergasted by the scene he had just witnessed. He followed her out of the room as she made a beeline towards the sink.

"Gross, gross, gross, gross…" he heard her saying to herself as she furiously washed her hands.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Go let some disgusting sailor put his grimy paws all over you and then you tell me!" she snapped. Then, realizing the harshness of her words, she softened and looked back to him.

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to take it out on you. I'm fine, really."

"Would you care to take a walk?"

"I'd like that"

They strolled through the gardens, hand-in-hand, enjoying the sunset.

When they reached a stone bench, Raoul turned to her and asked the question that had been on his mind since they left the house.

"How did you do that? I mean… Pascal is always looking for a fight and James is constantly on everyone's nerves. I figured he was a goner for sure!"

Christine stood and cocked an eyebrow at him. "What would you have me do? Let them destroy the dining room? I had no desire to clean up that mess."

Raoul stood up and held his hands out in a placating gesture. "Don't be offended, I'm just impressed, that's all."

**We took a walk, which I enjoyed very much. I think I upset him when I explained how I read people. I hope it didn't change his opinion of me too much. I really like him.**

She shrugged and crossed her arms. "It wasn't hard really. I couldn't just command them both to back down like you were about to do." He blushed, aware that she had seen that embarrassing display. She continued, "You see, you can't touch all people the same way. Everyone wants something different… it's just a matter of figuring out what that something is. Then they'll do whatever you say."

Raoul's eyes widened. This was not the shy girl he remembered.

"Just think about it… it took all but five seconds to figure out that James just wants to feel competent. He probably feels insecure around men his age and feels a need to constantly prove his masculinity by making up stories to impress his friends."

He was surprised… she had gauged James' personality perfectly. He crossed his arms and continued to listen to her.

"Pascal, on the other hand, is ornery and arrogant. He needs someone who is direct with him; but, at the same time, he doesn't like to be told what to do. So, the trick with someone like him is to tease them into surrendering."

_I hate to admit it, but she's two for two_. "So, what you are saying is that you learned to read people, and now you use that to your advantage by making them do what you want?"

**I probably should have been more guarded with my words, but it's been so long since I had someone I could really talk to. **

She shrugged again and leaned against the back of the bench. "I suppose you could say it that way."

"Does that not sound manipulative to you?"

"It does." she answered with more confidence than she felt. _I must sound like an awful person…please don't hate me…_

**I know it's wrong to manipulate people. I wish he understood that it is necessary. I have no one… nobody to look out for me but myself. This is not at all how I imagined my life to be. I am all alone, and I don't wish for anyone to know how scared I really am. **

Something about her attitude disturbed him. This was not his Little Lotte. _What happened to the sweet little girl that kissed me for fetching a scarf_? She still retained that innocence that he adored, but she was no longer carefree. _Christine seems… darker. _She was not like this when her father was alive. _Her father… Oh, Christine, I want you to feel safe… let me protect you… my Christine…_

**It's just that, one morning I woke up and realized life wasn't a fairytale like I thought it was. No Prince-Charming is going to come rescue me and a happily-ever-after ending is not guaranteed. A pity, because I so long for happily-ever-after. But no, life is more like (how would Mamma Valerius say it?) a game. Yes, a game. The ending and the winners are not certain and all I can do is play my hand as best as I can. Does that sound depressing? Possibly, but I am resigned to it. I'm not sad at all, really. I think that if I take everything in with a bit of humor, I'll make it just fine.**

Feeling the sudden need to lighten the mood, Raoul leaned against the bench and teased, "So, does it work with everyone… your mind games?

This made Christine laugh. Smirking, she answered, "Well, I've had you copying my body language all evening."

Raoul looked down to see that he was leaning on the bench in the exact same manner as Christine. He opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by Christine's high pitched squeal. She jumped back from the bench and shook violently. Raoul was baffled.

"What? What is it?"

"A spider! Look, right there on the bench! Oh, Raoul, I hate spiders!"

He laughed genuinely and swept the spider into the bushes. "Are you to say that you just confronted two sailors three times your size and you are scared of a little spider?"

She put her hands on her hips in mock indignation. "I'll handle the large, angry men if you will handle the spiders. Deal?"

"Deal!" he chuckled and led her inside.

**I expect, in the end, Raoul wasn't too upset with me. He did get rid of a spider for me. My hero! Maybe there is still hope for us. Look at me, I sound like a little girl. Maybe I still have a little crush on him. It's too bad he is leaving tomorrow. Perhaps I'll see him again soon. One can hope, right?**

**Until next time,**

**Christine**


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera_

A/N: So, these chapters just sort-of _assume_ that varying amounts of time pass between them--just try to work with it. I justify it to myself by saying these are just _selections_ of journal entires since nobody cares about day-to-day stuff. In the grand scheme of things, it is really inconsequential... but I just wanted to say something so it doesn't look like some years go by quickly and some days drag on. Hope that's not too confusing.

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**Dear Journal,**

**They accepted me into the Conservatoire. I suppose I should be happier about it. I'll have to ponder that. Mamma is thrilled. I did not tell her that I just _barely_ made it… meeting the minimum requirements and nothing else. She does not need to know those details. **

Mamma Valerius watched as Christine moved about the kitchen fixing tea for the two of them. Christine was such a good girl and she loved her like a daughter. She smiled when she remembered how the little girl and her father had come to live with them so many years ago. In some ways she was still that same little girls. _But in others…_

"Christine?" she said suddenly, "Why don't you sing anymore?"

Christine sighed. Mamma asked this question at least once a day. It was becoming clear that she was not well. She realized the she should start searching for someone to look after the old woman during the times she was away. Mamma couldn't even leave the house anymore.

"I _do_ sing, Mamma. Remember how I was just accepted to the opera? Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Hush, child, that is not what I meant. I'm talking about right now… you used to always sing, even when you were doing simple things, such as making tea."

_What do I tell her? I was a little girl then. Maybe I just don't _feel_ like singing. _Unsure of what to say, Christine just smiled sadly and handed the woman her tea.

Mamma Valerius may have been an old woman, but she could still recognize the grief in Christine's eyes. It was the same look she had had when Prof. Valerius passed on.

"You miss him, don't you?" she asked softly.

"So much, Mamma. So much…"

**Anyway, today is my first day. So far, it has not gone as well as I had hoped. **

Christine made her way through the crowd of singers, dancers, and other performers. They had all lined up to see what new talent had been brought in this year. Christine tipped her head down and attempted to sneak by unnoticed. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect. If she had been watching where she was going, she would have been able to avoid the large, over-dressed woman who stepped into her path. As it was, however, she collided with the glittery leviathan and they both tumbled to the floor.

**It was intimidating enough having all of those performers around staring us down and sizing us up. I would have preferred not to make a scene. But, alas, I would not have such luck.**

At least a dozen people ran to the woman's aid, practically tripping over Christine in the process. Meanwhile, the woman ranted and screamed as Christine frantically tried to pick herself and her belongings off the floor.

"You idiot!" screamed the woman, "Watch where you are going you clumsy fool! How dare you attack La Carlotta! Get out of here, little worm, before I have the managers fire you!"

**So now I have met Carlotta. I could have just as soon postponed that introduction to a more appropriate time and place, but such would not be the case. At any rate, had I known that, by lunchtime, the entire opera would be talking about "the evil soprano who viciously attacked the Prima Donna in an attempt to usurp her position in the Opera house," I would have done more to deserve all this negative attention. **

**Who am I kidding? I would have done no such thing--not even to that ugly old toad. I'm either very prudent or very cowardly. I'm not sure which. One thing is certain, I am very clumsy. **

**I expect that I won't be making any friends here, either. It's just as well, I suppose. I'm almost used to the solitude… almost. **

**It is time for class and then rehearsal. I must sign off for now.**

**-Christine**


	4. Chapter 4

**Dear Journal,**

**I've graduated, sort of… if you could call it that. I've completed my training, anyway. They have offered me a job in the chorus. It's nothing special, but Father would have been pleased.**

"Congratulations, new members of the Opera Populaire! There are stagehands here to direct you to your dressing-rooms. Please gather your things and follow them." As the managers made this announcement, the newly hired chorus members and dancers excitedly collected their shoes, makeup, and costumes and followed the stagehands down the long hall that contained the dressing-rooms.

After spending several moments, with a puzzled expression, looking at a clipboard, an office assistant whispered to the manager. "Sir, we weren't expecting this many new people. We are going to have trouble finding rooms for all of them."

**So now, here I am just getting my things situated in my dressing-room and trying to kill time before the next rehearsal. Speaking of my dressing-room, this is a strange place. It is further away from the rest of the chorus and it is set up differently… everything here is older. It appears no one has been here in some time. **

Having overheard this statement, La Carlotta (who, being the type of woman to remember past injustices, still held onto a great deal of contempt for poor, little Christine) announced that her _dear friend_, Christine would probably most appreciate the privacy of a more _secluded_ dressing-room. Specifically, the one room that most of the company would have refused due to the rumors surrounding it.

Naturally, the manager was more than delighted that his Prima Donna would be so helpful as to concern herself in so trivial a manner. It took him little convincing.

**I have heard rumors that this room is haunted. I shall have to remember to ask someone about that.**

From behind the mirror in the old dressing-room, a dark shadow watched as Christine went about dusting and cleaning the furniture. She began to speak to herself and he listened intently.

"Why _thank you_, Carlotta! I do _love_ the dressing-room. How kind of you to suggest it. Let me kneel down and lick your shoes in gratitude! Ugly old toad! She's like a spoiled child… a fat, sparkly, feathery, spoiled child," she smiled at her comment.

Something about that voice and that smile made the shadow's breath hitch in his throat. _I should go. Don't I have better things to do? No… not really. Maybe a little longer._ Her colorful description of that abomination of a lead singer had him chuckling softly.

The strange laughter brought Christine out of her reverie and she immediately stopped her cleaning and listened closer. The sound had disappeared. _This place is not really haunted, is it? Christine, you are losing it. The last thing you need right now is to be hearing things._

She approached the mirror, dusting rag in hand. The shadow made to leave, but found he was rooted to his spot. He watched helplessly. _Does she see me? Of course she can't see you… the whole point of a two-way mirror is so that you can see them without being seen! What's wrong with you… why do you even care? _

Christine shivered; suddenly the temperature of the room seemed to drop dramatically.

She stared into the mirror for a few agonizingly long moments before forming her mouth into an adorable pout and wiping it clean with the dust rag.

"Well, I might as well make the best of it, right? Isn't that what Mamma would say?" she said aloud to herself, "There now, that's better, isn't it?"

**It's really not all that bad. It just needs a little love and attention… and a good old-fashion dusting! Perhaps tomorrow I will bring some flowers.**

**Sincerely,**

**Christine**


	5. Chapter 5

**Dear Journal,**

**Today, for an instant--and believe me when I say it was only an instant--I began to question my sanity. **

Christine crashed through the door of her dressing room, sobbing. The last few rehearsals had not gone well. Twice she had been singled in the chorus for mistakes; the last one resulting in the entire company having to stay late to rehearse the final scene again. At the time, she had taken it all in stride, blushing appropriately, apologizing, and promising to concentrate better next time. There were no tears, no excuses, and no whining. She just smiled and played her part.

Inside, though, she was fuming.

To make matters worse, the rumors started by La Carlotta and fueled by the ballet rats had gotten worse over the last few months. The giggles, the whispers, the stares--while they were nothing she hadn't dealt with before, it was just another straw across the poor girl's already fragile emotional state.

Not knowing what else to do, Christine handled each individual situation as it came. Sometimes she pretended to be indignant, sometimes to be oblivious, or sometimes completely apathetic--she would tell each person exactly what they needed to hear to leave her alone for a few peaceful hours before someone else felt the need to single her out.

In this way, Christine Daae muddled through her first few months at the opera.

Christine would never refute the claims against her, no matter how odd they may sound; choosing, instead, to believe that everything would burn itself out when they had something more interesting to talk about.

The Opera Ghost, for example, was a perfect distraction.

She, herself, was a little more than skeptical. More accurately, she held to the conviction that those who believe in fairy-tales and ghost stories are either idiots, lunatics, or children.

However, gossip over the Opera Ghost often trumped any other scandal--real or otherwise. Actually, she often found herself giving silent thanks to the Opera Ghost (even if imaginary) for the slight reprieve his misdeeds had afforded her.

Not today, though. Today Christine just wanted to disappear.

**I heard a voice in my dressing room. At first I didn't know what to make of it all--bearing in mind that there was no one else in the room. **

After fumbling with the fastenings on her costume, Christine gave up and began working on her hair--hoping that the repetition of brushing out each curl might give her something to focus on until her tears subsided.

A few minutes went by and, as the sound of Christine's sobs diminished, they were replaced by a different sound entirely. A voice. More specifically, a male voice. The sound was soft as angels and just as ethereal. It was singing.

For a moment, Christine listened, completely entranced. Then, as her breathing became more regular, she slowly began to reclaim her senses and think rationally. _Who is singing? It isn't from the opera… my dressing-room is too far from the stage… I don't recognize the song or the voice… oh, that voice! No, think! Someone is here… who? Where is it coming from?_

"Who are you?" she finally asked.

**What does one do when they encounter a disembodied voice? If this were the dark ages, I suppose I would have called it an angel and worshipped it. If I were of a clearer state of mind, I would have searched for an intruder or, better yet, called the police and went home. As it was, though, the first thought that came to mind was how thankful I was that I hadn't managed to take off my costume yet. **

"Shhh, Christine… don't cry," was all it said. The voice was barely louder than a whisper, so very gentle… and pleading, somehow.

**I realized that I needed information. I figured that asking him how he knew me would be a reasonable place to start.**

"How do you know my name? Do we know each other?"

"You don't know me, Christine, but I know you. I have watched you here for some time."

**His answers concerned me.**

"Please, please, sir… leave me. I don't know what you want, but please leave me alone and I won't tell anyone. I promise!"

The more aware Christine was becoming, the more she was frightened. _Who is this man? _Where _is he? How does he know me? WHAT DOES HE WANT WITH ME? _Her mind began to race and she had to force herself not to panic.

"Oh, Christine…"

"Who are you?" she asked again, pushing back the tears that threatened to reemerge. _Concentrate, Christine. Find out who he is. Find out what he wants. You can do this._

"Dear child, I thought you of all people would recognize the Angel of Music…"

**His answers concerned me very much, indeed.**

The answer elicited a sudden change in Christine. The Angel of Music… the stories her father used to tell her… her father…

The reminder snapped her out of her panic as a wave of intense anger washed over her. Every defense mechanism she had built since his death kicked in in this one instant and she began to order her thoughts with the cold, military precision that only comes with years of practice.

_The Angel of Music_

_He knows more than I originally thought._

_How much does he know? Where did he learn this information?_

_Could I have met him before? No, I would have recognized a voice like that._

_Could he have known my father? Possible, but unlikely… Father didn't have many friends and he was too sick to socialize when we came to France._

_I talk aloud sometimes… here in this dressing-room. Yes. That must be it! He truly has been watching me for some time._

_He watches me. This is unsettling. _

_Is he a madman? _

_Possibly… no, probably. He is _no_ angel. There _are no angels.

_Mad or no, he is still a man. Just a man. He must want something. Everyone wants something. _

_Find out what it is._

_Right now, he wants you to believe he is an angel. Play along._

_This is a game. Just a game. Always a game. _

"The Angel of Music?" she asked innocently.

**We continued to speak for some time. He claimed to be the Angel of Music my father promised to send to me. He said he wanted only to help me… to teach me and mold my voice into something spectacular. This journal is supposed to express my feelings… but I am not sure how I feel about this as of yet. I don't believe anything he has said to me. On the other hand, since he seems to have had easy access to my dressing-room for quite a while, if he had intended to hurt me--or worse, but I dare not think of that right now--he would have had more than a few opportunities. **

"Why me, Angel?"

_Because I love you, my Christine…_ "Curious child, do you truly think it is wise to question these things? I already told you that your father sent me."

The answer irked Christine slightly as she began to realize she would not get any answers from him tonight.

"Why should I accept your offer?" she finally asked, not daring to raise her voice above a whisper, lest she betray the tinge of irritation in her voice.

_Because, if you did not, I would die… _"Because, Christine, you need me. I can help you. I can make your dreams come true. And because I think that you could use a friend."

**Beyond that, I feel strangely safe with him. That aspect alone should keep me away. Yet, even as common sense suggests caution, I feel compelled to find out who he is and what he wants from me. If that means playing the "angel" game for a while, I think I'm up for it. **

"Alright, Angel. I accept. Tell me what it is you want me to do?"

There was a brief pause as the Voice thought of all the possible answers to that question. _Christine, dear Christine…_ then he shook off his distracted thoughts and directed his attention to her once more. _Stop it, you idiot, never think those things…just look at her--she is innocent and trusting, she believes you to be an angel. You are a demon and monster. If you knew of someone else having those thoughts about her would you even hesitate to kill them? Even now your fists clench at the thought. You are lucky, monster, that God has abandoned you or He would surely strike you dead where you stand for what you are doing to this divine creature. Do what you must, but keep your thoughts focused on her voice. Besides, she is waiting for an answer…_

"I will meet you on Monday, here in your dressing-room, at 8 a.m., and every morning after that. I expect complete obedience and dedication to your music. You must never be late. You must concentrate completely--there will be no time for suitors and young men that care nothing for your gift…"

**And so I ask again: what does one do when they encounter a disembodied voice? If the answer is, "take voice lessons from it", there is a serious problem. **

As he continued to list the conditions of their arrangement, Christine began to get nervous again. The part about 'complete obedience' made her feel uneasy.

"…and, if you disobey me or fail to keep one of the rules I have laid out, I shall leave and you shall never hear of me again."

That 'threat' which, Christine supposed, was meant to frighten her, actually had the opposite effect. When she realized that the worst thing he would do was disappear (which, as she had nearly forgotten, was what she had wanted in the first place), she felt much more relaxed. _If I get sick of this game, I will just break one of the rules and he will go away. This is good. I have some control here._

"I understand, Angel. I will do as you say."

The Voice smiled victoriously behind the mirror. He resisted the urge to shout out, not wishing to give away his hiding place. Instead, he retreated further into the shadows.

"Very well, Christine. Go home and get some rest, I will see you again on Monday."

"Goodnight, Angel."

"Goodnight, child."

Christine seemed dazed for a few moments as the weight of everything seemed to sink in. Then, suddenly noticing the late hour, she grabbed her bag and headed out the door, costume and all. _I'll figure out how to take it off when I get home… last thing I need is HIM watching me undress._ Christine blushed, paled, and blushed again when it crossed her mind that this mysterious teacher of hers could have seen her change a hundred times over the last few months. She banished the thought and ran home.

The Voice sighed softly when she left the room. He suddenly felt very tired. However, sleep would not come for a long while. He had a lesson to plan, managers to blackmail, 'accidents' to arrange, and an opera to work on. First, though, he had to follow Christine home. He couldn't have his little ingénue walking about the streets at night. There were dangerous creatures in the darkness. He smirked wickedly and, with a swish of his cape, leapt gracefully through the trap door that led to the closest tunnel to the street.

**Often, I wonder why I do the things I do. I would do well to ponder this thoroughly before I meet with him next. I hope I am not getting in over my head.**

**Love,**

**Christine **


	6. Chapter 6

**Dear Journal,**

**Just as yesterday I was questioning my own sanity, today I find myself questioning everybody else's. **

Mamma Valerius poured some tea and watched Christine out of the corner of her eye as the girl bustled about the kitchen making breakfast. Mamma probably could have insisted on making breakfast herself as she did most mornings, but Christine would have argued and the whole morning would have been ruined. Besides, Christine seemed to enjoy doing these little things to help take care of her surrogate mother and, lately, she seemed more at ease when she was keeping busy. Mamma smiled. _She is such a good girl._

The tea and the breakfast arrived at the table at the same time. As they sat down to eat, Mamma noticed Christine looking intently into her tea and avoiding eye contact.

"Is there something wrong with your tea, dear, or is there something troubling you?"

"Mamma," she started, "Do you remember the stories my father used to tell about the Angel of Music?"

**I spoke about my strange encounter to Mamma Valerius. She responded as if it were perfectly natural for one to go about speaking with angels. **

"Oh! Of course I do dear!" the woman exclaimed delightedly. She clapped her hands together, thinking fondly of her time in Perros-Guirec, listening to story time with the father and daughter.

Christine looked up briefly and smiled sadly, but she did not reflect the same enthusiasm to the memory as the older woman across from her. She seemed distracted.

"I met someone the other day. Well, I sort of met someone… I heard someone anyway. In my dressing room… it was the voice of a man claiming to be the Angel of Music that father promised to send me."

Mamma's eyes went wide.

"The Angel came to you?" she asked with wonder.

"I didn't say that," Christine sighed, "I said I heard a man who claimed to be the Angel."

"Well of _course_ it's the Angel, child! Who else would it be?"

**How should I have responded to that? She seemed surprised that I would even question the experience. **

"I don't know… a prankster? A lunatic? For all I know it could have been the Devil Himself… I'm just not convinced it was the Angel of Music."

"Nonsense, child. You are much to simple a girl for the devil to have a hold on you!"

_Thanks, Mamma. Thank you for that._

Christine knew that Mamma was trying to be reasonable. She had no idea that the old woman actually _believed_ the stories. She just assumed she had pretended to go along with the fantasy so not to spoil Christine's childish hopes. However, now she was beginning to realize that Mamma truly did believe in angels… she believed in them with all her heart… so much that the concept that this would all be a falsehood was inconceivable to her.

**I am very worried about Mamma. She is not well. I am a little overwhelmed with everything and I'm not exactly sure what to do.**

Mamma Valerius paused for a moment, her finger to her mouth in a thoughtful expression.

Then, as if remembering something of great importance, she said, "You know who you should talk to about this? Christine. She has heard all about the Angel of Music. You should tell her about your experience and see what she has to say."

"Mamma?"

**To make matters worse, she insists on having her lady friends over for tea twice a week. They used to take turns visiting each others homes, but, since Mamma has been too unwell to go out, they seem perfectly content to make camp in our sitting room. Usually, I don't mind. But, today, I seemed to be the hot-topic of conversation.**

Christine curtsied and smiled politely as the women filed into the parlor. She mused about how each woman seemed to be wearing more feathers than the last. _"Bird" must be the style this year._ She smirked slightly when she considered that the group strongly resembled a brood of old hens.

After collecting the ladies' hats and cloaks, she set about serving the afternoon tea. The women all cooed and fussed over her--asking about her career, her singing, any new suitors--they adored Christine. She often thought that Mamma's social group was akin to having a dozen grandmothers.

**I would have preferred they stayed away from the "Angel of Music" topic. You'd think that Mamma would have forgotten about that--goodness, she's forgotten my name three times today! But, alas, I would not be so lucky.**

"You know," Mamma said matter-of-factly, "Christine here has a new tutor."

"Ooh," "Ah," "Wonderful!" they clucked

"Yes, _she _has been visited by the Angel of Music, and he has decided to instruct her."

"Mamma…" Christine began, blushing furiously. She was worried Mamma was going to embarrass herself if she continued this talk of angels.

However, she was surprised when none of the ladies seemed to bat an eye at Mamma's offhand declaration of heavenly revelation. They all continued along the new direction of conversation, chatting happily about how exciting it was that an angel would visit _their_ Christine.

**Even if I could accept Mamma's reaction to my news, I still never expected all of the other women to take it so casually.**

**Oh, Lucie, I love your new hat! Marie, how is your cousin in England? I heard Martine has been under-the-weather lately. Christine was just visited by a Messenger of God who has decided to give her singing lessons. Would you like sugar in your tea?**

**It was a little like that.**

**So, as I was saying, I am beginning to question the mental stability of just about everyone I know. Lets take an inventory:**

**--1 voyeuristic stalker-turned-tutor who claims to be the Angel of Music**

**--1 dear old lady who believes it**

**--8 more old ladies who agree**

**--Countless singers and dancers at the opera who are far too absorbed in the mischief of an Opera Ghost to even worry about me and my angel-problems.**

**--Oh, and 1 well-meaning priest who thinks I should have more faith.**

Christine twisted her fingers in her necklace. The necklace that held the two items she held most dear--her mother's crucifix and her father's wedding ring. She had gone to confession that afternoon, hoping to get some advice from the priest. She had spent the last hour telling him about everything that had happened with the strange voice. Now she glanced around nervously and shifted in her seat as she awaited his response.

"My child, you need to put your faith in God in this matter, as in all matters."

_What in hell is _that_ supposed to mean?_ She took a deep breath and looked at him quizzically, "Are you saying that _you_ think this is an angel too?" she asked incredulously.

"What I am _saying_, child, is that God works in mysterious ways."

_Oh, well that clears it all up then, doesn't it? Stop being so evasive and give me some advice!_

"Father," she started, trying to keep a respectful tone of voice, "what is it that I should _do_?"

"Pray, my child. Seek God's guidance and trust your heart."

"Thank you, Father, I'll do that." _Yes, thanks for _nothing_. Am I the only one who doesn't find any of this strange?_

**And, for some reason, everyone seems to think it is me who is being foolish.**

**Has the whole world gone mad? I hope not, but I would not be surprised.**

As Christine sat at her desk in her room, brows knitted together in an expression of deep though, journaling about her day, two cat-like eyes watched her from the darkness.

When he had first ventured away from his comfortable cellar and into the outdoors, he had berated himself for his weakness. _Have a little control, man. You will see her again soon enough. Can't you wait until Monday?_ Knowing this mental debate would be fruitless, he shrugged and snatched up his cloak.

He knew the way to her house; the memory--as with everything concerning her--was emblazoned on his very soul. He smiled fondly as he watched her bite her lower lip and scribble something else into the little book. _She is adorable. Everything she does is lovely._

As she bent over pages, a strand of soft, blond hair fell into her face. He reached out toward the window, touching the glass, and wishing he could brush it back for her… he would sweep it behind her ear… gently caressing that smooth skin… hand lingering at her jaw… so close…

_Enough!_ He told himself. _No good will come from this. Go home. You must be patient. You will see her again. She will be yours soon enough. _His eyes flashed at the thought. _My Christine…_

**The truly disturbing part about this recent awareness is that it severely limits who I can turn to about this… if there is anyone.**

**Yours truly,**

**Christine**


	7. Chapter 7

**Dear Journal,**

**The Opera Ghost has been busy lately. I don't know about everything going on--there's something about Box 5 and something else about a salary--but that's the extent of my knowledge since I'm not really a part of the "gossipy-ballerina" scene. I suppose I could go ask Giry or Jammes or one of the others… but I prefer not to associate with them. They don't like me, and I think they're annoying. We have an understanding.**

Everyone was on eggshells during rehearsal. Their production of _Faust _was only a week away and everybody was feeling the tension.

The second trombonist eloped with one of the ballerinas and both had to be replaced.

One of the little boys of the ballet was goaded by his friends to attempt a dangerous, albeit flashy, maneuver high above the stage. The result was a broken ankle (not to mention a score or so of sore bottoms after the sound beating the foolish little boys received for causing trouble).

La Carlotta was being even more difficult than usual. The costumes for the chorus were still not finished because her dresses were constantly being sent back for alterations--this sash is too long, this bow is too small, there are not enough sequins (there were _never_ enough sequins).

On top of everything, rumor had it that the managers had just received another note signed O.G. That makes the third this week.

**However, from the gossip I have overheard, I have gleaned that M. Ghost has a profound dislike for La Carlotta. Whoever this gentleman is, he has good taste! Actually, while I still am quite certain about the improbability of a resident spectre, I can't help but feel a sort-of bond between he (or she, for all I know) and myself. **

**I am embarrassed to admit it, but, since this is _my_ journal, I don't see the harm. I put ink in Carlotta's perfume bottle. As I expected, the Opera Ghost took the blame. M. Ghost--whoever, or whatever you are--I give you my thanks. **

**I know it's incredibly immature and petty, but I did feel a certain childish satisfaction when I saw the look on her overly-made-up face. And, something about the prospect of never getting caught made it all the more exciting. **

**I told the Voice about it. He, too, found it mildly amusing. **

**Speaking of Him, my lessons have been interesting lately. We have a bizarre sort of relationship. I don't trust him, but he doesn't know that. I do as he asks, and he continues to instruct me. So far it has worked out well, but I can't shake this feeling that our whole arrangement is precariously balanced. **

"Again, Christine!"

As the accompaniment began from some unseen location, Christine tried to suppress a groan. They had been practicing one of Marguerite's arias all morning. The Voice was insistent that she sing it perfectly. After so many weeks of rehearsal, she would rather not spend her lessons practicing _Faust_.

"Must we, Angel? We've already done it seven times!" she whined

"Yes! Do not question me! Again, Christine!" he snapped. Clearly, he was as irritated as she was.

Christine wasn't ready to back down just yet. "Why are we learning this anyway, Angel, when I am only in the chorus?"

"That is no excuse for carelessness. I am trying to make your voice _perfect_. Besides, if you can sing this, you can sing the rest."

She sighed. _I guess I'm not going to win this round. _And began again.

**For all the peculiarity of our arrangement, he really is a good teacher. He has taught me to do things with my voice that I had never imagined of before. Volume, for example.**

"Christine, why must you sing like a timid little mouse? I can barely hear you."

"Sorry, Angel, I'm doing the best I can."

"That cow they call a Prima Donna could sing louder than ten of you put together!"

"Carlotta's huge!" Christine protested.

**One of the benefits of Carlotta's considerable girth is that, if nothing else, that woman's voice can fill up the auditorium. Although, on second though, that might be from all the constant practice she gets screaming at everyone. **

"Size has nothing to do with it, my dear. It has everything to do with your breathing, posture, and control. Just because you're a small woman doesn't mean you need to have a small voice."

"Observe." he commanded and then began to sing the aria in his own register. At first the sound was thunderous--a booming, powerful sound that shook the old wooden furniture. Christine's eyes went wide and she trembled. Then, as the phrase ended, he brought his voice down… softer… softer… until it was nothing more than an echo behind her left ear.

Christine was amazed. Even as a deafening roar, his voice retained all the beauty the line called for. Likewise, the hushed whisper never lost any of its power--in truth, it may have become more powerful in its gentleness.

For a moment the two were silent. The student stood in her place, tears in her eyes, not staring at anything in particular. The teacher in the shadows, breath shallow, reveling in her reaction to him. Then, as if coming back down to earth, the teacher cleared his voice…

"Christine…" he began, "My child, I think we've done enough work for today. Perhaps you should rest before rehearsal." His voice was sublimely tender, but left no room for argument.

Christine nodded dumbly and moved to sit on the divan in the corner of her room. When she laid down across it and put her head on the pillow, he began to sing a soft lullaby. The last thing she remembered before she fell asleep was vaguely thinking that ten o'clock was too early to be taking a nap.

**He did make one more demand of me that I thought odd enough to mention. He told me to hide my gift, to sing as I once did, until he gives me the order to do otherwise. It seems like such a strange request. Is it supposed to be a lesson of some kind--that I should work for perfection that nobody will hear? **

**On the other hand, after Mamma's reaction to my new tutor, I would just as soon prefer to keep Him a secret from everyone else. No noticeable change means fewer questions for me to dodge.**

**It is harder than one might think to hide such a drastic change in my voice. While I haven't been able to sing at the level I am being trained to, I have managed to get through rehearsals without being singled out for any mistakes. **

_Soon, my beautiful angel. _He thought as he watched her asleep on the sofa. She was most lovely when she was sleeping. So alone, so helpless, so needing of his protection, his guidance--this is how he always thought of her, but it was so much more apparent as the angel slept. _Soon you will be ready to release your voice from its cage for the whole world to enjoy. They will come from all over to hear you sing, Christine. My Christine. Soon everyone will see you for the beautiful diva that you are._

**I know it's wrong to aspire to invisibility--but that's how I feel. **

**-Christine**


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. I also don't own Otello--the opera by Guiseppe Verdi that the duet in this chapter comes from._**

* * *

**

**Dear Journal,**

**Is there a time when music is too much? When it becomes _too_ real… _too_ painful?**

**Something happened today that has made me very afraid. The Voice is no longer the gentle instructor he was yesterday. **

"You are tired today, Christine." His voice rang with forced calm. Christine could tell he was tense, he had been frighteningly cold since she arrived.

At first, she found it amusing. _What kind of angel gets cranky in the morning?_ But it only took a few moments for her to realize that this was very serious, indeed. _He is not an angel. He is a man. A man who's power I can't estimate--I can't see him, but he can see me. Is his temper dangerous? _She realized that, in all these months of practice, she had never truly seen him angry. Stern, frustrated… never angry. The thought made her apprehensive. _Is this a calm before the storm?_

"Maybe a little," she said noncommittally. She could not understand what had upset him and didn't want to unknowingly confess to something she didn't do.

"Out late, perhaps?" Still that eerie restraint.

"Not especially… Is there something wrong, Angel?"

"Do you remember what I told you when you agreed to train with me?"

"Yes, Angel, of course I do" _Oh no, what is he getting at? Think… what did you do? What didn't you do?_

"Then why, _my dear_, would you disobey me?" he spat, the words 'my dear' issued like a curse.

Christine went pale. She honestly had no idea what she had done. _Just find out what he wants and use it. Come on, Christine, everybody wants something. You can do this! No… I can't…. how can I read someone I can't see?_ She began to panic.

"Do you wish for me to sing for you, Angel?" she offered, hoping it might buy her some time.

The Voice considered this a moment before answering, "Yes, my dear, only this time I shall sing with you."

**He made me to sing with him--a song of violence and betrayal. **

That suggestion startled her for just a moment. In her many lessons with the Voice, he had very seldom offered to sing for her and _never_ tried to sing _with_ her. She shook off the odd though as she heard the accompaniment begin. She recognized this piece… a duet from _Otello_.

His voice, beautiful and terrible in one, began as Othello…

_Did you say your prayers this evening?_

As if by some uncontrollable force, Christine responded as Desdemona…

_I prayed…_

_If you remember some sin that awaits Forgiveness from Heaven, implore it at once._

_Why?_

_Make haste! I don't want to kill your soul._

_You speak of killing?_

_Yes._

_Have pity on me, God!_

_Amen._

_And you, too, have pity._

_Think of your sins._

_My sin is love._

_For that you die_

_You kill me because I love you?…_

_You love Cassio._

_No! not on my soul!_

_You gave him that handkerchief I gave you._

_That is not true_

_I saw it in his hand_

_I am not guilty_

_Confess!_

_I swear!_

_Beware of your perjury… think, you are on your deathbed._

**Never before have I understood Desdemona's terror. Never before had I heard such unrestrained rage. I am beginning to realize what kind of man I am dealing with… and it terrifies me. **

They finished their song and the room fell uncomfortably silent. Christine stood, trembling, cheeks flushed, lips parted, panting slightly. _She is beautiful, _thought the Voice, _how can I blame this poor child that men desire her. NO! She must learn to be faithful to you. She must learn who she belongs to!_

"Tell me about the man you were with last night, Christine," he said softly… dangerously.

**He accused me. I cannot begin to comprehend all of what was going on in his mind. I have spent much of today trying to think of what man he was referring to. **

"Angel?"

"The man, Christine, who was he?"

**Last night Joseph, one of the scene shifters, asked me to dinner after rehearsal. I politely declined, but I did allow him to walk me home. He is nice enough, but we don't really have much in common. His claim to fame is that he, supposedly, has actually seen the Opera Ghost. I daresay it is all he talks about. Anyway, I am not one for ghost stories. Besides that, I think he drinks behind stage. I hadn't really given it another thought until He brought it up this morning.**

"Enough games, Christine! What is his name?"

"J-J-Joseph. Joseph Buquet" she stammered… each minute this conversation continued she grew more uncomfortable.

"What were you thinking? Did I not tell you to put aside thoughts of young men? Did I not tell you that you must concentrate on your music? You must spend your time with _me_ with _music_… not prostituting yourself out to any dirty swine to look your direction!" He was yelling now. Christine felt her face grow hot, her fear temporarily overshadowed by anger and embarrassment.

"I did no such thing!"

"I _saw _you walking with him!"

"Yes but that's… were you _following _me?"

"ENOUGH OF THIS!" he roared. Christine could feel the vibrations in the floor. "I WILL NOT BE DISOBEYED!"

Christine flinched. _I am out of my league, here. What should I do. Give him what he wants. Keep the peace… buy time to think of a plan._

"Yes, Angel. I'm sorry. I didn't realize…" She folded her hands contritely and looked to the floor.

"Of course you didn't, child," his voice was suddenly gentle again, "You are too innocent for your own good. You must trust your Angel to do what is best for you."

_Yea, I'm _sure _you have only my best interests at heart._ "Yes, Angel."

"You must obey me, Christine. If you cannot do that, I shall have to leave and you will never hear me again. Is that what you want?"

_Yes! Yes! Oh, goodness, yes! If only you would leave! I never meant for it to come to this!_ "No, Angel. That is not what I want. Please forgive me."

**I am such a fool. How have I been so naïve? I thought the worst that would happen would be that he would leave me. That is what I wanted, isn't it? I am very confused. As odd as it sounds, I may have been becoming friends with this man. But that doesn't change the fact that I have underestimated who or what I am dealing with. **

"Christine…" the voice murmured so softly she barely heard it, "Christine, you _must love me_."

_Oh, God, what have I done? What have I gotten myself into?_ "Of course I do, Angel."

This seemed to please the Voice. He spoke again, back to his normal, controlled volume level.

"You are forgiven, my child." Then, suddenly excited, he continued, "I have a surprise for you, my dear."

"A surprise?" _A surprise? What does that mean… somebody _please_ help me._

"Yes, of course. You, my beauty, will be playing Marguerite at the performance this weekend."

"But Carlotta--"

"THAT WOMAN IS NOTHING COMPARED TO YOU!" Then, seeing Christine recoil, he immediately softened and added, "Christine, dear Christine… you will be perfect. There is nothing for you to worry about. Just concentrate on your music and I will take care of the rest."

_What is that supposed to mean? What happened to Carlotta? I can't imagine she's just going to give up to role to me._ "As you wish, Angel."

**He says I will be playing Marguerite. That makes me nervous on many levels. How could I ever play a lead part? Am I good enough? What about Carlotta? Will she blame me? How is He going to arrange this?**

Later that night, the shadow watched as Christine headed up the steps into her tiny flat… alone. He smiled gently. _She is a good girl. _

On the short walk home, he thought over the days events. _I never should have doubted her. Such an innocent child. I know she never meant to disobey me. She loves me. She is just so naïve, I must protect her. She needs me. _

He reached the opera house and began the dissent into the cellars… gracefully he maneuvered the corridors. Pull this rope here… drop down that trap door… through the tunnel… up another rope. It was so much like the elegant dance one might see on the stage of the same opera house… and he could do it all in the pitch blackness, almost without thinking… which was good because his mind was still turning over in murderous thoughts. _It is not her fault… it is _his._ That filthy man that would aspire to put his hands on what is mine. Tomorrow I must deal with Carlotta. She will not upstage my angel on her big debut. But, not tonight. Tonight I must have a little chat with Joseph Buquet. All must know that Christine belongs to me. _

Just then, as if someone had read his mind, he saw the very scene shifter he was looking for. _There he is, trespassing where he doesn't belong. Oh, M. Buquet, don't you realize that these cellars are mine? _The man had been drinking and had fallen asleep.

He smiled a terrifying smile and his yellow eyes blazed in the darkness. Fingering the thin rope hidden in his sleeve, he called out in a chillingly gentle voice, "Hello, M. Buquet… you are just the one I have been looking for. Wake up, please. We need to have a little talk about you keeping away from that which does not belong to you…"

**I admit it. I am afraid. I am in this over my head. Never in my life have I felt so alone. Who can I turn to? I need help. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.**

**For now, I must try to sleep. There is nothing to be done tonight. Tonight I will rest, tomorrow I will think of a plan.**

**Lovingly,**

**Christine**


	9. Chapter 9

**Dear Journal,**

**So much has happened today. There is so much racing through my mind that I scarcely know where to begin. I can't help thinking that if I can put enough order to my thoughts to write them down, then perhaps I can make sense of them all. Only then do I have some hope of coming up with a plan of action. **

That morning, Christine had the misfortune of glimpsing her reflection in the mirror. She looked terrible--eyes red, puffy, with dark circles forming under them. She had the appearance of one who had not slept in days--and, perhaps, there was truth to that. It was true about last night, at any rate. She had spent the late evening and early morning hours alternately pacing and sobbing, unable to do much else.

_Who can I turn to? _she wondered, _Who would believe me… who would understand? _After weighing her options she toyed with the idea of talking about it with Mamma Valerius. _She can't help me, I know that… but, maybe just talking through it with someone else will help._

**I spoke with Mamma about the Voice again. I don't know what possessed me to do that. I thought maybe it would help me to talk about it. Anyway, she's the one who brought it up. What should I have said?**

"Child, you do not look well, are you sure you are feeling okay?" Mamma asked worriedly as she sipped her tea.

"I'm alright, Mamma," she sighed, "I'm just a little tired today."

"Perhaps you should not go in this morning…"

"NO!" she cried. Then, regaining her composure, she added, "No, Mamma, you know I can't do that. I have to meet with my teacher today."

"Ah yes!" she remembered her favorite topic--effectively dropping the subject of Christine's health.

"The Angel of Music! How is your good genius? Have you been working very hard?"

"Yes Mamma. I've actually wanted to talk to you about that--about him…"

Over the next hour she proceeded to update Mamma Valerius on her situation with the Voice… about his teaching, his insistence on her playing Marguerite… about his strange outburst yesterday. Mamma simply nodded and smiled with a look of complete understanding.

**She responded as if everything I had been experiencing was the most natural thing in the world. **

"Well, it's all quite simple, my dear. The Angel is jealous!"

Christine nodded. _I figured that much at least._

"Why would he be jealous?"

Mamma gave a knowing smile. "Because, child, he is in love with you."

**The way she answered everything so simply… as if nothing were wrong at all. I should have expected as much… but it still surprised me. How could I not be surprised? For goodness sake, we were talking about an _angel_ being _in love_ with me! I have to admit though, delusions of angels aside, Mamma does have some helpful insights.**

**When I went to the opera, I was suddenly swept up in a series of events that kept me so busy that I scarcely had time to breathe, much less contemplate my own problems.**

"Mademoiselle! Mlle. Daae!" cried the stage manager. He was surprised to see Christine this early in the morning, since many of the singers did not arrive until at least noon. Still, he was not going to complain--her early arrival was probably the first convenient thing to happen all morning.

"Yes, M. Badeau?" she asked. _What could you want? I don't have time for this…_

**The Voice was right. Carlotta has fallen ill and I am to play Marguerite. I wonder how he could have known that? That is probably a question I do not want the answer to. **

"I need you to go to the costume room immediately. Carlotta is sick. There is a rumor that you know all the music. The managers have agreed to let you play her part. When the seamstresses are finished with you, please report back here and someone will walk you through the blocking directions."

"Yes, sir. I'll head there right now." _Well, I'll head there _after_ my lesson… but you don't need to know that, do you?_

She turned to leave and, as an afterthought, M. Badeau called back to her, "Oh, Christine?"

"Yes?"

"I don't know whose idea it was to have you play this part, but I just wanted you to know how very important this is. You are in a position to potentially embarrass the entire company. I don't mean to frighten you, but I just wanted to make sure you know not to take this responsibility lightly."

"Yes, sir, I understand." she replied obediently. Inwardly she was furious at his implication and nervous because of the truth of the statement, but she knew that now was not the time to argue.

He smiled back at her as he watched her leave. Badeau really did like Christine. She knew her place and seemed to honestly appreciate his direction.

**M. Badeau felt it necessary to remind me of my potential to fall flat on my face and destroy my career. I could have slapped him if I didn't have control over my emotions. I know his type. Actually, he was so easy to read that it took me three seconds after joining the opera to figure out how I needed to act around him. He is something of a controller. He has very little power but feels the need to flex his muscles whenever possible. It is generally in my best interest to say "yes, sir" to his advice and act as if I am profoundly grateful. Afterwards I just do what I want anyway, but it is how I stay on good terms with many of the minor directors here. **

**Anyway, it has still been hard to shake the seeds of doubt he managed to place in my mind. **

Christine made her way through the corridors toward the costume room. When she was sure M. Badeau was no longer watching, she turned the corner and darted back to her dressing room. As exciting as this news was, it was not worth her teacher's wrath if she were to be late to her lesson. Besides, she was sure He would like to hear about it.

"Good morning, Angel!" she said breathlessly

"Good morning, child. I noticed you speaking with the stage manager. Is everything quite alright?"

_You know it is. You know exactly what he said. Why do you insist on making me play this game?_

"Yes, Angel, everything is wonderful. I am to play Marguerite!"

She could nearly hear the smile in his voice. "Are you pleased, child?"

_It depends on what you did to get me this role._ "Yes, very pleased, Angel."

"I'm not convinced… you sound troubled. Is this not what you wanted?"

_He's toying with me. Why is he toying with me? Fine… if he wants to play games, I can indulge him. What else can I do?_

"Of course it is what I wanted. I'm just nervous. Are you really sure I can do this?" _Is that what you wanted to hear? Oh help me, wise Angel! I can't do this without you! I need your divine reassurance! Does that make you happy?_

The Voice chuckled affectionately. _Oh, how adorable you are, my sweet Christine! _"Not to worry, child, you will be perfect. Now, I believe you are due at the costume room?"

**I spent most of the morning with the costume designers. I truly feel sorry for the poor women. After all the work they did on Carlotta's costumes, they will have to start all over. **

Mathilde and Josette frowned as the finished Christine's measurements. They had hoped to be able to take in some of Carlotta's garments to fit Christine, but the size difference was immense. They would have to start from scratch. The prospect of preparing a whole new set of costumes in less than a week was daunting. It meant even more sleepless nights and tired fingers for all the seamstresses. However, to their credit, they tried their best to hide their displeasure in front of Christine.

As she made to leave, her path was halted by a breathless Meg Giry and a handful of other ballet rats.

"Has anyone seen Joseph Buquet?" they asked.

"No, why should we?" a woman answered.

"He didn't report to work this morning! There is a rumor that the Opera Ghost got him!" As much as the ballerinas tried to look frightened, their eyes made them look like excited children on Christmas. The dancers surely did have a fascination with ghost stories.

"And did _you_ perpetuate those rumors?" asked an older woman. Some of the girls blushed and looked at their shoes. Little Giry was incensed and tried to speak up.

"Now, see here--" she started

"No, _you_ see here," the woman interrupted, "We don't have time for your silly little games. _We _have work to do. Go away and bother someone else with your stories."

**Joseph has gone missing. I am hoping it is just a false alarm, but the news was enough to bring me back to my thoughts when I had become distracted with the events of the day. I was reminded of the urgency in which I needed to find a plan.**

Usually Christine would have been annoyed witnessing such an exchange. This time however, she was concerned.

"Christine, dear, you are looking pale! Are you alright?"

_Why is everyone asking me that today? Because you look terrible… since when did you become so bad at hiding your problems? Since my problems refuse to stay hidden…_

"Yes, Madame, I am alright. Do you think it is true what those girls said?"

"BAH! Of course not. They are a bunch of silly, empty-headed, little girls. Pay no attention to them. There is no need to worry about Buquet. He probably just had too much fun last night and is paying for it this morning."

"Yes, you are probably right. I am just being silly."

If anyone else had gone missing, she would have thought nothing of it; but, considering her conversation with the Voice yesterday, she wasn't sure whether or not she should be worried for the man's safety. _The Opera Ghost may not have gotten him, but I don't know what my Teacher is capable of. I hope I am blowing this out of proportion… I hope, I hope, I hope…_

**Thankfully, help would arrive in the form of my dear friend, Raoul. Oh Raoul! I wondered if I would ever see him again. I have never been more happy to see an old friend in my life. **

That evening, as rehearsal was wrapping up and Christine was gathering her things, she saw a familiar face speaking with the managers.

It was Raoul de Chagny, just come back from the navy. She smiled fondly. After three years of service, she wondered if he would look much different… would she even recognize him? Much to her surprise and delight, he seemed not to have changed a bit. Still that fair skin, that same blond hair, those beautiful hands and graceful features. The one difference was the thin mustache he grew (or was attempting to grow) on his upper lip. Christine almost giggled, she was so happy to see him.

"Raoul!" she called, but he appeared not to hear her. She would have called out again but he and his brother appeared to be having a very serious conversation with the managers and she did not think it in good taste to disturb them. _I'll catch up with him later…_

**I did not get a chance to speak with him, but I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of peace that he is here. My dear friend! My Raoul! I know that he will help me. I will see him again in a few days after the performance. I will speak with him then. He will help me come up with a plan. **

**It is funny, really. A few months ago, if I saw him, I would be wondering if he remembered me, if he would still be the same gentle boy, if we would still get along, if I would still have a crush on him… if, if, if… All of that seems so inconsequential now. My mind does not have the luxury of such petty worries. All I can think about is how grateful I am that he will help rescue me--I know that he will, for a true gentleman would not pass up such an opportunity.**

What she did not notice was the pair of glowing eyes watching her from the rafters. _Who is that _boy? he wondered acerbically, _And what is he to my Christine?_

**I think that I will sleep well tonight. I feel as though my champion has arrived!**

**Forever,**

**Christine**


	10. Chapter 10

**Dear Journal, **

**When I think of the childish joy I felt only two days ago when I first saw Raoul, it makes me want to both shudder and laugh. To think, I thought I was as good as rescued… that my redeemer had come. **

**Tonight was the gala for the opera patrons. I was to sing selections from Faust in Carlotta's place. **

"Who is _that_?" whispered a woman's voice--a stage whisper, really--just loud enough for everyone to hear..

"_That_ is Christine Daae," replied another in the same pseudo-soft style of voice. "She is the chorus girl who is determined to upstage La Carlotta!"

"Really? A _chorus_ _girl_?"

"Oh yes, she has been trying to steal the spotlight since she arrived."

"What nerve! Look, she's about to sing… lets see what a fool she makes of herself!"

At that point a certain viscount had heard the rude attack on his childhood friend and shot the offensive women an angry glare that instantly stopped the distasteful gossip.

**Speaking of which, Carlotta and her ugly little friends seem to be blaming me for Carlotta's sudden bout of severe bronchitis. At some point, the idea of making so many enemies would have been upsetting to me. But, now I have too much on my mind to trouble myself with their petty cruelty. **

"Are you ready, my dear?" the Voice asked gently.

"Yes, Angel. I think so. Just a little nervous."

He chuckled softly, not the chilling sound she had remembered from a few days ago. She was surprised how genuinely pleasant his laugh could be. It was as if all thoughts of her supposed betrayal had been wiped from his memory. Her strange angel was back… the gentle, caring teacher that had been her only friend all these months. _Be careful, Christine. Don't forget what he is._

"Don't be, child. You are more than ready. Tonight you will finally reveal all your hard work and training to the world. Everyone will love you." _I love you…_

She blushed, honestly flattered by his praise. He offered it so rarely that, even now, she was happy to know she had pleased him. _Watch it… he is dangerous. Is he? Is he really dangerous? Has he ever done anything to hurt you? No… but what about Joseph? What about him?… he is just_ missing_--who knows what that could mean. Stop speculating._

"Did you get the gift I left you?"

Quickly looking around the room, she spotted a red rose on her vanity.

"Oh, Angel, it's lovely!" she said, picking it up and breathing in its fragrance.

The act was infinitely endearing to the Voice--that she would be so pleased by a rose when other women would demand jewels and gold. However, tonight… the night of her debut, the night of his triumph… tonight she deserved more than flowers.

"I'm glad it pleases you, dear child, but I meant the box beside the flower."

It was then that she noticed the small black velvet box that had been sitting beside the rose on the table. She opened up and her eyes widened in disbelief.

Inside was a beautiful pearl necklace. It was a simple design, but something about its simplicity made it all the more lovely. In the center there lay two diamonds that flanked the most stunning sapphire Christine had ever laid eyes on. The size of the jewel, though impressive, was not what drew her attention; rather, it was the color. The gem was of a deep blue so radiant that it almost looked unnatural. It matched her gown perfectly and brought out the color of her eyes.

With a look of wonder on her rosy face, she clasped the necklace around her neck. If she had been listening, she would have heard the faint groan from behind the mirror as her hand lingered on the graceful curve where her swanlike neck met her ivory shoulder.

"It's beautiful, Angel," she whispered, "I don't know what to say" _He can't be all bad. I know he is unstable and jealous. I know he stalked me, pretended to be the Angel of Music. But he has also been so kind to me, given me so much… he gave me my voice… he gave me friendship… and now this. _

_It is not nearly as beautiful as you, my darling Christine. _"Think nothing of it, my dear. Now, I think you had better go… I wouldn't want you to be late for your big moment."

"Thank you," she murmured, smiling softly, and turned to leave. _Mamma said he is in love with me. Is it true? The notion is not as repulsive to me as I thought it would be. I cannot love him as an angel--he is no angel. But, could I care for him as a man?_

As an afterthought, she turned back into the room and picked the rose back up from the vanity. She pulled off the black silk ribbon from the thornless stem and tied it into her hair. Then, blushing and smiling bashfully, she turned and flitted out the door.

As her teacher watched this, he could barely contain his emotion. That simple gesture of affection was enough to make him feel as if his heart would burst in his chest. He had known more happiness in that one moment than he had in all of his forty years combined. A single tear escaped and fell down his face behind his mask. _My Christine! _

**But, I digress--perhaps because the thought of what I am about to write leaves such a bitter taste in my mouth than I feel sick. **

Christine was to sing one song in the first half of the evening, and two in the second. Her first song went through without a hitch. From the look on the faces of the audience, she could see how surprised and impressed they were. She felt a swell of pride deep inside her--a feeling she had not felt in some time. Still, she could not help wondering if the Voice was somewhere near. Was he listening? Did he approve?

Briefly, she glanced up to the box seats where she saw Raoul and his brother, Philippe, watching attentively. She remembered that she had to talk to Raoul later that evening. Even if the Voice was as harmless as she hoped--or wished--he was, it was still a disturbing situation she was in (after all, it's not every day that a woman meets and takes lessons from a disembodied voice!) and she still thought she would do well to discuss it with another rational human being.

**The gala began well enough. It wasn't until the intermission that the horror began. **

She sat in front of the mirror, touching up the light makeup on her face and sipping a cup of weak tea. Beside her, little girls from the ballet school stood adoringly, happily chattering away about the evening… the clothes, the lights… it was all a wonder to the little children.

In another corner of the large room, a group of women--likely Carlotta's friends--gossiped and whispered about Christine and her performance… occasionally shooting a glare or sneer in her direction. Christine ignored them, choosing instead to focus her attention on the little girls, occasionally indulging them with a nod or small comment here and there, though they were perfectly content to continue their talk with little to no encouragement.

All this came to a grinding halt, however, when Little Giry and her obnoxious crew of ballerinas burst through the doors. _Why do they do that?_ Christine wondered, as amused as she was annoyed.

"Buquet is dead!" the gasped.

Christine dropped her tea.

**Joseph was found dead. One of the stage hands found him behind one of the sets, hung by the neck. I later found out, by the authorites, that he had likely been there for several days before he was found. **

**I desperately want to think of some excuse for this--that it was a freak accident or that he committed suicide. But deep inside I know that _He _is the one to do this. This was a warning. The Voice wants me to know that I belong to him. The concept sickens me as much as it frightens me. **

**It is no wonder that the rest of the even was difficult.**

When Christine came on stage for her last two songs, Raoul noted--even from his box--how pale she looked. But then, when she opened her mouth, all thoughts and worry disappeared and all focus directed to the otherworldly music she created with her voice. There was more emotion poured into that song than Raoul (and, judging by the gasps in the house, the rest of the audience as well) had ever witnessed from the stage before. At the end of her last song, grown men--even respectable noble men such as Philippe de Chagny--wept and sighed.

It was then that she collapsed.

**I fainted. I never faint. I always figured it was something women faked for attention. It is possible though… and I did it. If the situation were different, I don't know if I would be more embarrassed or shocked or amused. As it stands, though, I have been on an fierce emotional ride--going from nervous, to excited, to the heights of absolute joy, to shock, horror and despair. I think that the soul can only withstand so much before the body gives up. **

**I realized that I must not see Raoul after all. I cannot risk his safety with this man. He is too dear to me for that. So, when I was back in my dressing room (I had to be carried and, when I awoke there was a doctor and two nurses by my side as well as a dozen other concerned bystanders), I denied his request to see me.**

Raoul burst through the door of Christine's dressing room, shooing out all the well-wishers and spectators.

"Everyone must leave! There is barely any room to breathe in here!"

He looked toward the doctor, who nodded in silent permission to speak with his patient.

**I even went so far as to pretend not to know him. **

"Who are you, monsieur?"

The boy looked perplexed and not a little hurt. _She must know me… I saw her smile at me from the stage!_

"Mademoiselle, do you not remember the little boy who ran into the sea to fetch your scarf?"

She laughed lightly and flicked her wrist in a dismissive gesture.

Attempting her most snobbish voice, she replied, "Sir, I'm sure I don't know what you mean. But I _do _know that you are in my dressing-room uninvited and I am in no condition to entertain visitors."

**Oh, how it killed me to hurt him like that! I could see the pain in his eyes! He loves me, I can see that. But, I also know that, above all else, Raoul is a gentleman and he would never pursue me against my wishes. **

She winced at shocked expression on the boy's face, red from hurt and embarrassment and resisted the desire to collapse, sobbing into his arms. The temptation to unburden all of her struggles into his capable hands was almost too much to endure. _I can't bear this. This is too much. I must get him out of here before I crumble._

"Now, if you all don't mind," she said glibly, "I am very tired and I would like to be alone."

As they all made their way toward the door, she overheard the doctor whisper reassuringly to Raoul, "Don't be offended, monsieur, she is not herself today. She is usually so gentle!"

Raoul gave a skeptical glance over his shoulder as he left. Christine did not see, however, that he took up residence just outside her dressing room--his ear pressed to the door.

**I wanted nothing more than to be alone just then. I needed to rest my weary mind. The last person I wished to speak to at that point was my teacher. However, the Voice would not be ignored. **

"Christine, you _must love me_!" he said. His voice was commanding, and yet there was such a pitiful, pleading quality about it.

"How can you say that?" she asked, her barely restrained tears evident in her voice, "How can you even think that when _I sing only for you_!"

She was caught off guard by the truth of that passionate declaration. _I _do_ sing only for him!_ she thought in amazement. It was an odd thought, but she realized that, even when she had all of Paris in tears, her primary concern was whether or not the Voice would be proud. It was a troubling notion… as if he were her greatest antagonist and most revered idol all in one. _I suppose he is…_ she sighed to herself.

After a pause, he spoke again. "Are you very tired?" He was gentler this time… as if soothing a child.

"Oh Angel," she sighed, "I gave you my soul tonight and I am dead!"

"Your soul is a beautiful thing, child, and I thank you. No emperor received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight."

As he spoke this, he meant every word with all his being. He had been equally moved by her statement and the emotion in her voice. It made his chest swell and his heart break at the same time. _My beautiful angel… you love me! But she looks so weary… is she about to cry? Don't cry, my love! Your Angel of Music will protect you. I will never leave you, my darling Christine._

**I have abandoned my plan of seeking help. Though I cannot know for sure, I do not think my teacher would hurt me. However, I cannot say the same for any good-intentioned soul who might come to my aid. As frightened as I am, I am not so selfish to risk the lives of others… especially my dear Raoul. I thought that I could ask Raoul for help… but I realize now that I am all alone in this. No… not alone. The Voice is with me. He is _always _with me… I can _never _be alone. I know it sounds insane, but it is oddly comforting in a way. It is as if He is the one constant, albeit a terrible one, in my world that seems to be crumbling around me. **

**How has everything changed so much in so short a time? Will anything ever be as it was? Will I ever see Raoul again? I have so many questions--so many worries. It's remarkable that I can even function. I suppose I'm not the fragile waif everyone thinks I am. **

**With love,**

**Christine **


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera_

A/N: So, this chapter is all over the barn. It just sort-of jumps around to various unrelated things. My mind just did not want to focus today! I hope you can still follow.

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Dear Journal,**

**Avoiding Raoul has been harder than I thought. I had forgotten just how persistent he can be. **

**Once, when we were children, his dog ran away. He spent all day and all night looking for her, refusing to give up and come inside. Eventually his sisters had to send a party out to search for _him_ when he didn't come home. When they found him, he was only barely conscious and his lips were blue from the cold. Even after all of that, I remember the first thing he said upon waking was, "Did you find her?"**

**Raoul's perseverance--it is so very charming, a trait I have always found attractive in a man. Unfortunately, now is not a convenient time for his determination. I wish he would just give up.**

**Does he not realize that I am more trouble than I am worth? **

"Mlle. Daae, open up! I wish to speak with you."

Christine groaned when she recognized Philippe's voice. He had been trying to gain audience with her ever since the gala.

Poking her head out of her door, she whispered harshly, "What is it you want?"

The older man sighed. "You know what I want, mademoiselle, I come on behalf of my brother, Raoul de Chagny, who wishes to speak with you--though, Lord help me, I can't understand why since you haven't given him so much as a single kind word since he arrived."

He didn't sound angry _per se_, though it was always hard to tell with Philippe; he sounded more weary than anything else. Christine couldn't help but feel bad for the poor man. All he wanted to do was to enjoy a relaxing evening at opera and spend a little time with his _friend_, La Sorelli, from the ballet corps. Instead, he had been spending the better half of the week indulging the fantasies of his heartsick younger brother by trying to speak with Mlle. Daae on his behalf--a task that was proving to be much more difficult than he had thought.

Still, Christine knew she could not risk giving either of them the slightest encouragement. However, before she could speak, a cluster of boisterous young women made their way through the hall outside her door.

**On a separate note, even in her absence, Carlotta finds ways to torment me.**

"Don't look now, girls, but look who's dressing-room we're passing!" one of them said--another one of those stage whispers that Carlotta's gossipy friends seemed to be so adept in.

"Look who's with her, the Comte de Chagny!"

"_Somebody's_ got an 'in' with the opera's biggest patrons!"

"I bet she's bedding _both_ of the brothers; it's the only way she can elbow her way into Carlotta's spotlight."

"So _that's_ how she does it! Heaven knows she didn't get the role based on talent."

"Carlotta says she got another note this morning. It was practically _threatening_ her not to return to sing this weekend!"

"How awful! What kind of disgusting, jealous toad is she…"

"She's probably doing the Opera Ghost too!"

The girls snorted and giggled unattractively as they passed by the dressing-room. The comte had kept his back turned and pretended not to notice; it would not do for a nobleman to lose his temper in public at a bunch of whiney girls--despite the temptation to throttle each and every one of them.

When they were out of sight, Philippe leaned into the door way and asked softly, "Have they been bothering you for long?"

She shrugged, "Just since I first arrived at the opera. I had something of an unfortunate run-in with their fearless leader and ever since then, torturing me has become a bit of a hobby for them."

He nodded solemnly. "I will speak to the managers."

Christine shrugged again and nodded slightly. They were really not as troublesome as they thought they were. By now, she had become used to their abuse. But, if it made the comte feel more chivalrous, she would allow him to feel like he was protecting her. _Anything to keep his mind off what I _really_ need protection from!_

"Now," he continued, "about my brother…"

She interrupted him. Christine had tried being polite, she had tried being rude, she had tried being snobbish and dismissive. Nothing seemed to be able to sway Raoul or, consequently, Philippe. However, now she realized that perhaps she had a chance to appeal to the brother's protective nature that he had just demonstrated to her.

"Monsieur," she began, her eyes pleading for him to listen to her, "please… _please_, don't ask me to see Raoul. I can't tell you why, but I just cannot see either of you… I cannot _be seen_ with either of you. I beg you to understand! Tell your brother what you must but it is of grave importance that you do not attempt to contact me again!" Some small part of her hoped he would leave her statement at that and go away. Her more sensible side knew that he could not take such a heartfelt plea without asking some questions.

"Mademoiselle, if someone is troubling you--" he began

"No!" she said quickly, then, pushing the door closed, she added, "I must not speak to either of you again."

**Actually, some twisted part of me almost enjoys Carlotta's pitiful attempts of sabotage. They are childish, petty (not that putting ink in one's perfume was any more mature, but that is beside the point), and, in the grand scheme of things, wholly inconsequential. However, for some reason, these spiteful whisperings and silly pranks are a sort-of comfort. As odd as it sounds, it brings a small bit of normalcy into my life.**

Christine sunk down to the ground, her back against the door she had just pushed shut. She wanted to weep--weep for herself and Raoul and the life she had just shut to door on--but the tears would not come.

Years of pushing away her troubles made it virtually impossible to wallow in her self-pity. _It would have been lovely_, she thought briefly, _to just lie here and break down. No desperate planning, no worrying, no sleepless nights. I could just give up, put my life in someone else's hands--Raoul, the Voice, anyone really--let them make the hard decisions and consequences be damned._

But then, she shook the thought away. _Think of it as a game, Christine_, she remembered the words she had said to herself her whole life, _remember that. Concentrate on winning! You are still alive--that means you are not out of the game yet. You _must not_ ever give up! You can do this. Don't you still want your happy ending? _She did, desperately.

She nodded, feeling only slightly better from her personal pep-talk, and pulled herself off the floor. She made her way over to the sofa only to find that a large toad had taken up residence on one of the pillows.

For some reason, the picture didn't shock her in the slightest. In fact, she barely reacted at all, save for a small smirk when she realized who must have been responsible. _So, it would seem Carlotta is not above cheap pranks._

"Well, hello there, big fellow," she said to the toad, "you seem to have monopolized my favorite pillow."

**Today I found a toad. I named him Carl, after his mistress. I figured it only proper, since they look and sound so much alike. **

"What is _that_?" asked the Voice. Again, Christine was not alarmed. She had come to expect His voice to come out of nowhere. Indeed, over time she had come to sense his presence even before he made himself known. This was a skill she had chosen not to reveal just yet… anything that might possibly prove useful or gain her the upper-hand was considered a weapon to her.

"It is a gift." she said holding Carl up with one hand and gesturing to him with the other. "That reminds me," she added, "Carlotta has undergone a miraculous recovery and has decided to return for the production later this week."

The Voice was silent for a few minutes. This was news even to him. His thinly veiled rage was so close to surfacing itself that he did not trust himself to speak, lest he frighten his little Christine with his anger.

Finally, he said, "She should know better than to use her voice before it is healed. It can be very damaging."

Christine pretended not to understand the double meaning in that statement. She would rather not think about what that could imply.

**The Voice thought to give me a break from my lessons for the rest of the week. I assume it is because I am no longer playing Marguerite so I don't need as much practice. **

"You seem distracted today, Christine."

"I am a little," she replied honestly. Then she kicked herself for that honesty because it meant she would have to elaborate and, no doubt, he would not take it kindly if she told him she was distracted thinking about another man.

After a brief pause, she continued, "Tomorrow is the anniversary of my father's death. I usually make a trip to Perros to visit his grave. I suppose I had nearly forgotten, what with everything going on recently." This was all true, it just wasn't the reason for her distraction… _but he doesn't need to know that_, she decided.

"Well, Christine, why didn't you tell me?"

_HA! Why? Aren't _angels_ supposed to know these things, anyway? Especially you who claims to be_ sent _by my father!_

"Of _course_ you would be distracted! Please, child, I will not stop you from visiting your father! I will fetch you a carriage and you can leave for Perros at once!" There was no sarcasm in his voice, just genuine concern and affection.

The offer was thoughtful enough that it brought a rare smile to Christine's face as her mind started to process the opportunity this freedom allowed her. _My chance! I can escape to Perros! I will go away where he will not find me!_

**What shocked me most of all was his suggestion that I take Raoul. I never would have thought he would allow such a thing--much less, be the one to suggest it! **

"In fact," he continued, pleased by her reaction, "Perhaps you should bring a friend along. What about that de Chagny boy?"

She panicked. _What does that mean? How does he know about Raoul? Is he angry? How should I react… think, how should I respond… _

"Are you sure?" she asked tentatively

"Of course, my dear. I trust you Christine. You made a promise to me… I know that you would not betray my faith in you." His voice was tender, but she could still recognize the warning in his words.

Then he continued with authority, she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he formulated his plan, "Your Angel has also decided to accompany you. I will be their to watch over you and keep you safe. I will also be able to see for myself that you have been faithful to me."

_Damn it!_ Her mind screamed. He caught on to her plan. _Can he read my thoughts?_ That notion made her sick so she pushed it from her mind.

Then, choosing to remain positive, she thanked the Voice profusely and quickly penned a note to be delivered to the de Chagny residence.

**So, now I am in a carriage on my way to Perros. Raoul, I believe, will be meeting me there later tonight or tomorrow morning. At first I was disappointed to have lost my chance to run away. I was even more disappointed that I would not have a chance to speak to Raoul about my situation (I cannot risk that He may be listening).**

**The concept that I will never see Raoul again after this trip is unsettling. However, I will be thankful that I at least have been given this much time. Perhaps now I will have the chance to say a proper goodbye to my little playfellow. **

**Sincerely,**

**Christine **


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I also did not come up with the advice that Mamma V gives Christine in the middle of this chapter. I don't know where it came from--it's possible I pieced it together from various fortune cookies--but I know that it does not sound like anything my feeble mind would come up with._

A/N: Hello everyone. I am posting twice today because I will be gone for a bit at a conference. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little chapter. Soon everything is going to come crashing down on poor Christine (literally, the chandelier/kidnapping chapter is coming up as soon as I get back). Until then, thank you for reading. Reviews are always welcome. **

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**Dear Journal,**

**My trip to Perros went well enough--I think. I got to say goodbye to Raoul, and for that I am thankful. **

**He didn't take it well, which I expected. What I did not expect was how badly _I _took the separation.**

"Raoul, you _must _believe me!" she cried. Christine had met him at an Inn in Perros. At first she had meant only to say her goodbyes and tell him not to seek her out again. But, something about the concerned shimmer in his pale blue eyes made her resolve crumble in its entirety.

She had collapsed into a chair--still refusing to let him take her into his arms--and through her tears and whimpers, recounted all the events of the past six months. She told him about the Voice, the lessons, the jealousy. She told him of Mamma Valerius and her friends and the priest… none of whom could help her. She told Raoul about how she had seen him in his box for the last few days, and had purposely ignored him, fearing the Voice's wrath.

And now, rocking fretfully in her chair, fingering the silver crucifix and gold wedding band on the chain around her neck, she waited uneasily for his response.

To her horror, he did not seem to believe her.

"Christine… you have been under a lot of stress lately… perhaps you just need some rest…"

She wanted to scream. "No! Raoul, please hear me! You said yourself that you heard a man's voice in my dressing-room the night after the gala. Do you not believe that I am a virtuous woman? That I do not go locking myself away with men's voices? You say you checked the room after I left, and that there was _no one there_! How can you admit to all this and _still_ not believe me?"

Something inside Raoul broke. He was not angry with her… rather, he felt this overwhelming concern. He saw the anguish in her sweet face and every ounce of his being urged him to protect her. Raoul was in love with her. He realized this now, more than ever. Never again would he deny it to himself or anybody else.

"Christine…" he reached for her but she wriggled out of his grasp and clapped her hands over her ears.

"NO! NO! NO! LEAVE ME! DON'T COME NEAR ME AGAIN!" she cried and ran.

She ran as fast as her aching legs would carry her, out the door toward the graveyard where her father's tomb lay. Her mind and heart were racing as well. This was the first time she had gotten to really talk to Raoul since they were reunited and the realization that dawned on her was unsettling. She needed to think.

**I feel something for Raoul. More than a crush, more than an infatuation, I think I have fallen in love with him. As much as I know I shouldn't, I have. **

**I am reminded of what Mamma Valerius always told me as a young girl whenever I had my heart broken.**

"But I fell in love with him, Mamma! What am I going to do? My life is over!" little Christine sobbed into her pillow. She was just barely eleven and suffering her first rejection.

"Dear child," she answered, "anything you fall into, you climb right back out of! Do you think my husband and I just 'fell in love' overnight? Of course not! These things take time and work. The heart is a fickle creature… it would serve you well not to let it push you around. _You _are the master over your own heart."

Christine nodded, unconvinced. But, true to Mamma's word, she was good as new within the week.

"**Anything you fall into, you climb right back out of." Good advice, Mamma. The heart is a fickle creature, indeed. Then why am I having such a hard time with this. What good am I if I can not even control my own heart? **

As Christine sat in the graveyard, issuing silent prayers for her father and trying to sort out her life, she sunk so deeply into her own contemplation that she did not realize the rapidly dropping temperature.

Her guardian watched her from his hiding place. When he looked upon the utter turmoil that her pale face and bluing lips portrayed, his heart went out to her.

He knew she would not last outside much longer. Just because he could not feel the cold did not mean that this angel of light would not suffer its effects.

_Where is that _boy_? And why is he not with her?_ He thought with disgust about the boy's lack of sense in protecting his love. At the same time, he thanked him for abandoning her to him. _Oh, de Chagny, do you not realize that you have left your little lamb alone in the presence of the wolf? _

He needed to get her inside, get her warm, but he could not risk revealing himself to her. _Not just yet. Soon, but not yet._

In a smooth motion, he lifted his violin and began to play _The Resurrection of Lazarus_. The song soothed her subconscious, reminding her of her father and the Angel of Music. Despite the cold, she fell asleep on the snow, arm draped lovingly over the tombstone.

Once assured of her sleep, he gently lifted her into his arms, holding her to him with the highest care--as if afraid she would break--and enveloped her in his heavy cloak. Then, climbing through her hotel-room window, he laid her down on her bed. He lingered slightly beside her, watching her slow, steady breathing. He felt strangely normal watching her sleeping form. _Like a husband watching his wife…_ The thought sobered him and he escaped silently through the open window. _How much longer can I last? This is torture! How much longer can I hide from her when every fiber in my body urges me to hold her? I can't keep this up forever. Soon, Christine… for now I must be patient. _

**I am so confused. If only my father were here. I miss him so much. It is funny that, with all that has happened and all I hold to be true in the world, I find myself wishing for an angel more than ever.**

**-Christine**


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do use a few direct quotes in this chapter from chapters VII and XII of Leroux's book._

A/N: Well, I have returned. I hope I did not break my train of thought too much. Thank you to all of you lovely people who have reviewed. I like you. **

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**Dear Journal--well, it's not exactly my journal. Rather, a stack of fine paper I have discovered in a desk. I suppose writing on unattached paper is even more risky than keeping a journal (if I were to revert to my paranoid inclination not to write things down). However, writing has become so very therapeutic for me (I'll have to thank Mamma Valerius for that) that I feel compelled to feed the habit.**

**None of that matters right now. Focus. Right. So… without further ado…**

**Dear what-will-serve-as-my-journal-for-the-time-being,**

**My memory is such a haze, I am not certain how long it has been since I have written. How long have I been in this place? Days? Weeks? I have no way of knowing. **

**Right. I need to calm down. That is why I am doing this right? I will begin with where I think I last left off and go as far as I can remember.**

**Oh yes, _Faust._ It did not go well.**

Christine had been having a rough afternoon. Carlotta's return to the opera--just in time to reclaim her role in the production--also marked a tremendous increase in the unwanted attention Christine received from the diva and her friends.

Not to mention, rumors that Christine and _her _friends (she was not so aware she had any) were plotting against Carlotta had spread throughout the company.

Where she had few friends before, now there were fewer who would issue so much as a kind word to her in the hallway.

The other result was that, when Carlotta finally walked onto the stage, the crowd launched into such an unwarranted round of applause that those who were unaware of the circumstances of Carlotta's return were thoroughly perplexed.

**I remember seeing Raoul and missing lines. **

While she had been removed from Carlotta's role as Marguerite, the managers were reluctant to demote Christine back to the chorus. Whether this was out of appreciation for her singing or fear of the Opera Ghost, she could not be sure.

Regardless of the reasoning, Christine had been moved into the role of Siébel--and all would have to admit that she looked adorable, even dressed as she was in boys' clothing.

She began to sing her lines when her gaze drifted to the de Chagny box. There she saw her poor Raoul, weeping with his head between his hands. Her heart broke for the boy, knowing that she was the cause of his pain. _Oh Raoul, forgive me! Move on, please! You don't deserve this… you don't deserve _me

Her breath hitched and her voice was suddenly hoarse and raspy. When her lines finally did make it past her lips, they were muddled and quiet.

As she sang, murmurs rippled through the audience. "What happened to her?" "She was so good the last time she sang" "What an odd girl!"

As soon as her part was finished, she made a hasty exit and headed to her dressing-room in shame. _I wonder what He will think of this performance…_

**I went back to my room. Carlotta made odd sounds. I remember thinking it was extremely amusing and ironic. But then there was a voice and a crash, and my memory gets hazy from then on.**

"Co-ack!" A terrible frog-noise interrupted Marguerite's aria. Carlotta began again, singing even louder and moving more brazenly than before. However, she could barely get out three words before the sound reverberated through the auditorium again.

"Co-ack!"

She tried again.

"Co-ack!"

Again.

"Co-ack!"

The crowd had begun to laugh nervously. There was not a person in the house that did not sense this was the work of the infamous Opera Ghost.

The managers and performers tensed in fearful anticipation of what was to happen next. Rumors had circulated concerning the notes sent by the Ghost threatening a great catastrophe. _Is this the catastrophe He was referring to? To ruin the opera and Carlotta's career. Or is there something else?_

At that moment, a voice echoed through the hall with a power that caused the windows to vibrate and the people to tremble.

"She is singing tonight to bring the chandelier down!"

Every eye turned upward to the glorious crystal chandelier above their heads for a few breathless moments before complete pandemonium broke loose.

That was all He needed to prove his point to the managers, humiliate La Carlotta, _and_ abscond with Mlle. Daae who, at the moment, was in her dressing room--exactly where he wanted her to be.

_Too, too easy! _He smiled and expertly worked various trap-doors and secret passage ways, effectively circumnavigating the hysteria and landing him just outside Christine's dressing room. _Just a thin piece of mirrored glass stands between me and my angel. It is time, my love._

**I walked through my mirror? No, that can't be right. Can it? I am trying to think, but nothing adds up.**

Christine stood in front of her mirror when she heard the crash of the chandelier. She had just changed out of her costume and into a light dressing gown, happy to be back in clothing meant for a female.

The crash had made her jump, but she was hesitant to leave her dressing-room because she had unbound her hair and currently wore little clothing. She was also not so sure that she truly wanted to know what was happening out there.

As long as she stayed in her room, she could ignore the frightening sounds and try to stay in her peaceful little bubble--if only for a few more moments. For a few moments, she could pretend that her life was not so complicated. She could forget Raoul's broken heart, Mamma's failing health, The Voice and her feelings of helplessness.

For a few moments, she could forget about the last six months. She could just be Christine. Plain, unremarkable, invisible, but still _in control_.

The shouts and screams faded out of her ears and were replaced with the sound of singing. Had she been completely clear-headed, she would have recognized the otherworldly voice and ran the other direction.

However, in her current state-of-mind, the song easily put her into a sort-of trance and she blindly followed it.

Around the desk, she followed it.

Across the room, she followed it.

Past the sofa, she followed it.

Back in front of the mirror, she followed it.

Likely, if the music had led her off the edge of a cliff, she would not have hesitated to fall to her death. As it was, however, it led her straight into the mirror.

Never for a second did she wonder how she walked through the mirror. It never even occurred to her to question it.

**Then there was darkness. I have a few images. A few memories of sensations… never the whole picture. Just fragments. **

**I remember water.**

When the singing ceased, she was met by a dark figure. The figure lifted her and set her into a boat. Taking its place at the other end, it began to row through the murky waters. The two yellow eyes that blazed in the darkness fixed on Christine's face and never wavered.

**If I close my eyes, I can see two yellow lights. Like two stars or maybe cat's eyes in the darkness. I wonder if that was real or if it was a dream.**

Ever so slowly, she began to regain control of her senses. _What? Where am I? Am I being kidnapped?_

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The only response was a sigh.

**I remember a breath. A sigh. It was a chilling sound… something akin to the death rattle. The thought alone makes my skin crawl.**

She shivered, but refused to be shaken. She struggled against the drug-like trance she had been in and tried desperately to put order to her thoughts. _I have been taken. Who is this man? Could it be the Opera Ghost? Someone must be able to help me… but who? Raoul? No, he could not hear me down here. Who can hear me? The Voice! He hears everything! He can help me… I know he will… he must!_

"Angel? Angel can you hear me? Help me! Save me!" she began to scream. She heard no response. _Where _is_ he? Why won't he help me?_ The fiery gaze of her captor remained steady and unyielding, but he said nothing and made no effort to stop her shouts. Her pleas were useless; they both knew it.

**Then there was a man. Who was he? I can't remember. Think. Maybe I know him.**

The figure led her out of the boat into a very comfortably furnished room. He gently forced her to sit down in a large chair in the corner.

"Peace, Christine," he murmured, "you are safe here."

It was Him! It was the Voice, her teacher, her _angel_.

"It's you…" she whispered hoarsely. Part of her felt relieved, but that was easily overshadowed by the part of her that felt betrayed and frustrated and out-of-control. The sight of the black mask that covered his entire face only added to her fury. _After all of _this_ he would _dare_ hide from me? NO! I do not accept this!_

Her myriad of emotions boiled over as she flew at him with an animalistic screech. All the rage she had pent up inside her over the last few months came roaring out of her while she struck at him with her fists and attempted to rip off the hated mask.

With surprising strength, he wrapped his skeletal fingers around her wrists and pushed her back into her seat. His voice betrayed no emotion, nor did it show any evidence of a struggle.

"No harm will come to you as long as you do not touch the mask."

Then he poured her a cup of tea and knelt at her feet. She took a sip, fully aware that it could be poisoned but willing to risk it for the small comfort it might offer her frazzled nerves. She didn't die and, as she expected, it was very calming. As she drank, she concentrated on taking deep, steady, breaths. _Focus. Breathe. Think. Relax. _

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was evaluating her options. _I cannot escape by force, _she noted and mentally ticked the option off her list.

From his place on the floor, he looked up into her eyes and his gaze softened.

"Christine, I love you."

She evaluated his tone. His voice was no longer cold, no longer demanding. It was soft, pleading… completely and utterly submissive._ Perfect_, she thought triumphantly. She had discovered his weakness.

"If you love me, you must let me go immediately. If you keep me here I will only ever despise you"

The man nodded solemnly. "I understand," he said softly, "I will take you back."

He stood and turned his back to her and began to sing.

_Too easy,_ she thought,_ this can't be right. This was too easy._ Then she fell sound asleep.

**Why can I not remember that man's face? **

**I have been violently ill. But, for how long, I do not know. It could be days. I am just now able to get out of bed.**

**I was not alone in my illness. I know this because, when I awoke, I was in a comfortable bed in this comfortable room. I am wearing a different nightgown. That thought is distressing to me, but I do not have the luxury to dwell on such things at present. However, the significance of these observations is that it means someone has been taking care of me. In truth, I do vaguely remember this being the case. **

She awoke just as a fierce wave of nausea passed over her, a man helped her into the bathroom and then carried her back to bed.

He returned to his seat beside her bed, his book forgotten, and gazed mournfully at her while she fell back into her fitful slumber. _I am so sorry, Christine. Please get better! Forgive me…_

Again she awoke, thrashing violently. A nightmare. Her body ached all over and her skin was damp with perspiration.

**There was fire followed by ice.**

He pressed his palm to her forehead. It was so cold… the icy hand of death. But it felt exquisite on her fevered skin.

**Is it wrong to take comfort from a stranger… possibly a murderer… your kidnapper?**

"Again." she rasped as he pulled back.

He hesitated. _Did she just ask me to_ touch _her?_

"Again, please" she begged again.

The man was stunned. He reached out a tentative hand and placed it against her cheek.

She let out a relieved sigh and leaned into his palm.

His eyes grew wide. _This can't be happening_. Unable to help himself, he moved his other hand to her face, cupping her jaw in his hands and caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. She moaned ever so slightly and her restless body snuggled down contentedly in her sleep.

He stood that way, holding her head in his hands, for a few minutes more until he withdrew and fell back into his chair, trembling and confused.

**I expect that it is. I shall have to use more discretion in the future.**

The next time Christine awoke, she was alone in the room. She felt much better and her mind was clear enough to realize the importance of his absence. _Now. I must run now!_

She opened the door to her room to find that only led to a bathroom. Christine had to admit that it was the most luxurious and large bathroom she had ever seen. But it was still merely a bathroom, not an exit and, as such, it held little appeal for her.

She returned to the bedroom but was frustrated and confused to find no other doors. _Where am I? How did I get here?_

On the chest of drawers beside the bed she found a folded note that she had not noticed before.

--'My dear Christine, you need have no concern as to your fate. You have no better nor more respectful friend in the world than myself. You are alone, at present, in this home which is yours. I am going shopping to fetch all the things you can need.'--

_You're kidding._

**I am trapped here. I am alone and there is no exit. If there is no exit, how did I get in here in the first place? There are no windows. I am not usually prone to claustrophobia, but I am beginning to feel closed-in on. **

**You'd think that my first priority would be to get dressed or bathe. It is not befitting of a lady to meet a man, kidnapper or no, in her nightgown. **

**However, I've found that in a situation such as this, typical priorities no longer apply. I found paper and I wished to write. And so, that is what I am doing. **

**I don't know how long I have been writing, just as I do not know how long I was ill. My watch has stopped and needs to be rewound so I know I have been here more than twenty-four hours. Beyond that, I have no idea. There is no sense of time here. **

**And so, there is nothing to do but wait. I am playing a game in which the stakes are high and I am unfamiliar with the rules. All I can do is wait to meet my kidnapper and take it from there. **

**We'll see what happens,**

**Christine **


	14. Chapter 14

**Journal,**

**I am remembering more, making more connections. His name is Erik. I think I have a better chance than I originally thought.**

**I see that I am not making sense. I will start from the beginning.**

**After I finished writing last, I went back into the bathroom to wash up. It was full of everything I a woman could possibly want in a washroom--bath salts, oils, perfumed soaps--all new and clearly expensive. **

**The closet was found in a similar state. Dresses of the finest quality, in every conceivable color, with matching shoes, accessories and (dare I say it?) undergarments lined the closet walls. Even the most humble of these dresses put my Sunday best to shame. Everything fit me perfectly. **

**Actually, I had to wonder what he could have forgotten that he would have to leave me to go shopping. **

**As I cleaned up, I was able to clear my head a little more and reflect. **

Christine sunk further down into the fragrant bath water. She knew she shouldn't be able to relax so much in this strange place and dangerous situation, but she was confident in the four locks on the door. Actually, she had to admit that she felt safer here locked in the bathroom than anywhere else she could be. She had decided that this was the one place He could not reach her.

_Who was 'He' anyway?_

She went over the past series of events mentally as she had just done on paper, still trying to connect her fragmented memories and draw some sort of helpful conclusion.

_Why hadn't The Voice rescued her?_

That thought worried her more than anything else. Her teacher _always_ knew what was going on with his student. It seemed that nothing could escape him. If she didn't know better, she might have truly begun to think of him as an angel… or a ghost. But he couldn't be totally incorporeal if he had killed Joseph Buquet, right?

_Maybe the Opera Ghost has taken me!_

She meant the thought as a joke at first, but then her mind started to fire off signals and build bridges, linking her thoughts. Everything became suddenly and frighteningly clear.

_Who else is like a ghost? _

_The Voice and the Opera Ghost--are they the same?_

_He loves me, he always hears me, he would have rescued me…_

_Unless…_

_The Voice, the Opera Ghost, and my kidnapper--they _are_ the same!_

**I realized just who my captor is. Angel of Music, indeed! I am very put out by all of this.**

She groaned and covered her face. _How could I have been so _stupid_? Why couldn't I see it? _Christine had never been particularly slow in making observations. Actually quite the contrary, as the observation of others was one of her most developed defense technique.

For some reason, though, this seemingly obvious connection had not even crossed her mind before now.

_I have _got_ to get more sleep!_ She thought, bitterly.

**However, as irritated as I am, I am not so blind as not to see what a fortunate position this puts me in. **

After this difficult realization, the rest of the puzzle pieces fell into place. She began to remember the intimidating figure who had crouched humbly before her feet when she first arrived. She also had a vague recollection that it was this same figure who had cared for her in her illness.

_He has brought me here._

**I do not believe I am in any immediate danger.**

_He has taken the time to prepare this place--the clothes, the perfume, everything was meant for me._

**It looks as if he intends to keep me here for some time.**

_He cared for me when I was ill._

**He says he loves me.**

Christine smiled to herself when she thought about what this meant for her.

**I have more control here than one might think. He needs something from me. As long as I have something he needs, I might have some power over him. **

**The trick is--how do I manipulate this power to make him let me go? **

She stepped out of the bath, feeling greatly refreshed, and began to dry off.

At first, she had merely wanted to make herself decent. However, with this newfound strength, she decided on a change of course. She took her time selecting a dress. When he returned, Christine wanted to look stunning.

As she prepared herself for her captor's return, she gave herself a mental pep-talk, steeling her emotions for whatever was going to happen next.

She had no doubt that he would soon come looking for her, though she did wonder how he would get in if there was no door.

Everything about him was unusual, she remembered that much, and so she realized that she had to make a conscious choice not to be surprised by the unexpected. Christine decided, no matter what, she would not let herself appear flustered.

Christine had practiced masking her emotions for years and today would be no different. She was determined not to show anything but cool indifference and control.

**It is only a matter of time until I learn that trick. **

As she went to set down the mirror, she squealed and jumped, finding a little white mouse wandering across the dresser. Her shriek seemed to have little effect on the rodent as it curiously poked about her hair clips and pins.

"Well, that was unexpected," she said to herself after the initial shock wore off.

"Hello, little one, you gave me quite a shock there." She noticed that this mouse was nothing like the normal wild mice that roamed the rest of the empty building. This one was pure white with bright pink eyes and a kink about halfway down its tail.

"You don't look like you belong here. Do you have a home? Don't be afraid, little mouse, I'm not going to hurt you," She set her hand quietly on the dresser and let the mouse sniff her, then she scooped it up and held it gently in the palm of her hand. "You see, I knew you wouldn't bite me. Are you hungry? Let's see if I can find some crumbs for you. I wonder where you came from…"

"You don't really expect him to answer, do you?" a deep voice laced with a hint of amusement came from behind her. She took a deep breath, reminding herself of her resolve before she turned. _It's time. You can do this. Breathe. Good. Now turn around._

**Only a matter of time before I discover the right way to touch him to make him do what I want. **

She saw a dark figure standing in the frame of a door she had not noticed before. _Why didn't I see that door…_

As if he knew her thoughts, he answered, "You did not see the door because I did not wish for you to see it. You see, I am the worlds greatest magician! I can make anything disappear."

The tone in which he said those words alarmed Christine and she tensed instantly. He must have noticed her unease because, before she could respond, he abruptly changed the subject.

"I thought women were afraid of mice?"

**And it would appear that I have all the time in the world.**

_Is he going to play this game again? Ignore the obvious? Pretend that there is nothing out of place about kidnapping a woman he's been stalking for months? _

_What does he think I'm going to do? Does he expect me to scream and attack him? Does he expect me to cry? _She remembered their last encounter and the futility of her screams and tears as well as the almost comical quelling of her furious attack.

_Nope. None of that this time! _She smirked inwardly, feeling the same familiar sense of power wash over her that she felt when she broke up the fight between the sailors. _I have missed this. _After feeling so helpless for so many months, she closed her eyes and welcomed this renewed strength like an old friend.

_I will play along for now, but sooner or later I am going to get some answers._

"Most are…" she sighed, "I suppose I should be. I guess I just never had any reason to be. Spiders are one thing--as a child I got a nasty spider bite that made me very sick. But… mice… well, they've never done anything to me… so I don't really have a good reason to hate them, I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt."

He cocked an unseen eyebrow at this.

"Especially this little guy," she continued, turning her attention to the white mouse still in her hand, "I can tell he his not your typical cellar mouse, and he looks clean enough… so I'm relatively certain he's not carrying some disease…"

"Looks can be deceiving, my dear. But, yes, he's quite safe." _She is so trusting, how can I be doing this? But, how can I not? No, there is no other way. I should let her go… I can't… I can't do it… I need her…_

"Where did you get him?"

"He escaped… he escaped and I found him… his tail was broken… but I saved him…"

"Escaped from where?"

"I do not wish to speak of these things,"

"Does he have a name?"

"No… he never needed one… you could say he is one of a kind"

"Do _you_ have a name?"

He paused. _What do I tell her? You could say I am also one of a kind! _He inwardly laughed at his own joke. _Angel of Music? No, I am no angel, and she wouldn't believe me anyway… Angel of Doom? Living Corpse? No, that would frighten her… Opera Ghost? HA, absolutely not… I had a name once… what was it? It's been so long… if I could only remember… my mother knew--poor unhappy woman that she was. What was it she always used to say to me? "Erik, don't you ever take your mask off in my presence again!" Erik! Yes, that is it… I remember… I wish I could forget... but for Christine I will remember..._

"Erik… my name is Erik"

**And so, Erik, let the games begin!**

**-Christine**


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I also do not own this translation of the _dies irae_--that came from some Catholic book I have in my library, the title of which currently eludes me. If it truly matters to anyone, I'll look it up... but I can't imagine anyone cares about those kind of details._**

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**Journal,**

**Three days, counting today. That is how long I have been here. **

"Christine," he called softly

She was sitting, with her back to him, at the little desk in her bedroom. After their short encounter a few hours ago, Erik had left again to prepare lunch. Christine returned to her desk to write again in her makeshift 'journal'.

She did this for several reasons. The first, being that it helped her calm her nerves and keep her composure. If she could pour all her feelings into something else… music, writing, something… she could purge them from her mind and keep them from showing. The other reason, one she would never admit, is that, in the event something happened to her and she did not leave this place alive, she wanted _somebody_ to have an account of all that occurred here.

When she heard her name, she winced ever so slightly. Christine never thought anything special of her name. She didn't _dislike_ it exactly, she just didn't think it was as pretty as other girl's names she'd heard before. However, something about the reverent way he pronounced her name made her heart jump. Even now, when she hated him more than ever, the sound excited her enough that she wished he would say it again and again. It was, currently, a most unwelcome feeling.

Slowly, she turned to face him, calm as ever.

"I have prepared us a nice lunch, please come with me."

He extended his hand to her and, for a moment, she moved as if she meant to take it. Then she remembered the icy feel of his skin; how she had allowed it--welcomed it even--when she was ill; and how she regretted it afterwards. She snatched her hand back away from him with an angry glare.

"Forgive me," he moaned dejectedly and ushered her out of the room. _You fool! Why would you aspire to touch an angel? You soil her perfection with the very thought. But she let me touch her before! She was sick, you idiot… you should know, you made her that way! You greedy fool! Isn't it enough that she is here with you?_

She sat down at a small table and he placed a plate of food in front of her and poured her a glass of wine.

"I tried to make food that would be easy on your stomach. Are you feeling any better?" He was so very childlike in his inquiry… like a little boy trying to make amends for breaking a vase.

Christine nodded, though none of the food in front of her appealed to her still queasy stomach. However, out of politeness (you see, it would not do for her to be rude… that would ruin her plan altogether), she nibbled a bit and tried to think of something to talk about.

"Won't you be eating anything, Erik?"

"No, my dear, you enjoy your lunch. I have already eaten." Actually, he hadn't eaten anything all day. He truly wasn't hungry, but he knew that Christine, being the truly compassionate girl she was, would not believe him and would not be able to eat her own food in peace if she was worried about him. And so he lied. _Such a sweet girl. Always concerned about others_.

Christine nodded and turned back to her food. She really hadn't heard his answer, as it wasn't particularly relevant to anything she was thinking of at the time. She was just trying to make conversation.

Suddenly, it occurred to her how odd it would be to make small talk with this man. As much as she wanted to look calm and casual, discussing weather with her masked kidnapper was a little much.

She figured it was best to cut to the chase and see what information she could get from him.

"Erik?" she asked casually, "If you don't mind, I have a few questions."

He tented his fingers over the table and looked into her eyes. He had been expecting this.

"Of course."

She didn't want to come out with the obvious questions right away until she was confident in his reaction. She decided to start with the easy questions and work her way up.

"How long have I been here?"

"Today is your third day."

**Two of those days were spent violently ill. And _why_ was I so sick?**

"Three days…" she whispered, more to herself than to him.

He cleared his throat. "Although, you were barely conscious for two of those days. You cannot know how pleased I was to see you up and about this morning."

"How… why… that is, um…" _don't be a coward, Christine, just come out and say it _"It is not like me to become ill like that. Do you know how that could have happened?"

At this, Erik sighed and looked down, the table cloth was suddenly very interesting to him.

Finally he returned his gaze to her and said guiltily, "You have no idea how sorry I am… please… try to understand… I couldn't have known you would react that way." _Oh, Christine! Can you ever forgive me?_

Her voice remained even, "Explain. Erik, what are you saying?"

**Because he drugged me! That horrid man put something in my tea the other night. To his _credit_, he didn't mean to poison me. I had an unexpected reaction to the opiate he used to knock me out. **

Erik took a deep breath. The confession had drained his emotions. Now he sat, awaiting her response. He could not bring himself to look into her eyes for fear of what he would see in them. Instead he fixed his gaze on her wine glass and silently pleaded with her to forgive him.

Seeing where his eyes were fixed, she brought her wine glass to her lips, drawing his gaze back to her face. _Oh no you don't, you evil bastard, you look me in the eye!_

Christine, for her part, was doing an excellent job hiding her fury. _You awful man! You are not the misunderstood little mouse… you are the big ugly spider, nasty and mean and out to hurt me! I hate you ! I hate you! I hate you! Let me go you wicked spider!_ She clenched her fists under the table, bunching the table cloth into her little hands. _Stay calm. _

For a moment, the two just stared at each other--he maddened, she furious--both trying to hide from the other, but neither willing to back down. She was the one who finally broke the silence.

"Take off your mask" she demanded, more harshly than she intended.

At this, the trance was broken. "_That_ is not a question, my dear." he smirked. He stood up gracefully, once again the dominant. "And you shall never see Erik's face."

"Come," he said firmly, "I will give you a tour."

**Mamma Valerius would be proud of my self control. Why, at this very moment I am refraining from saying or writing all the profane words that are running through my mind. He drugged me!**

He raised his hand, not touching her but beckoning her to stand.

"Would you like to see my room? It is really quite curious…"

_Actually, no, you lunatic. That is the last place on earth I would like to visit._ "Sure…"

He led her to a dark room at the end of the hall.

**He was good enough to show me around his flat. His room, however, was what left the biggest impression on me. It was a shrine to death… complete with coffin. **

She gasped when she entered the chamber. It was dark, like a funeral home. The walls were black and, on them, hung the notes of the _dies irae_ repeated over and over.

As she took in the room, the words of the hymn echoed in her brain with the notes on the walls.

_Day of wrath and terror looming!_

_Heaven and earth to ash consuming,_

_David's word and Sibyl's truth foredooming!_

_What horror must invade the mind,_

_When the approaching judge shall find,_

_And sift the deeds of all mankind._

The thought gave her chills.

And the coffin upset her so much that she turned away.

He merely shrugged and said, "That is where I sleep. One has to get used to everything in life, even eternity!"

_Is he trying to make a joke?_ she wondered _Or is he really that disturbed? Maybe both… I imagine one should be pretty disturbed to joke about such things._

**All in all, the sight was unsettling to me.**

**I asked him to return me to my room, a request he happily obliged--partly, I assume, out of relief and gratitude that I had not so much as mentioned for him to return me to my home.**

When they reached her rooms, he watched from the doorframe as she continued inside. He seemed unwilling to breach that barrier without her permission, a show of respect that Christine was tremendously grateful for. _Thank heavens for little miracles, anyway…_

Before he turned away, he spoke again--once more, timid and childlike.

**Something he said troubled me more than anything else I have seen or heard today.**

"Christine… I… I love you, but this is the last time I will say it until you allow me--a day that will bring me infinite happiness. In the meantime, however, our time here will be spent with music."

"Our time here? How long will that be?"

"Five more days," he said with conviction.

Her eyes widened. _Is that all? There must be a catch…_ "And then you will let me go?"

"Yes. In that much time, perhaps you will see me, not as an angel, but as a man. Then, maybe, you will return every now and again to visit your poor Erik."

**It was not his announcement of how long he expected me to remain, nor was it his plans for me during my time here. It was not even his expectation for me to return that troubled me so. **

**It was his first statement--he is not looking for me to love him… just for me to allow him to love me. I don't know exactly how I feel about that. He says he loves me. But, does he care so little for me that it does not matter to him if I return the feelings? Am I some sort of pet to him? Or, am I missing something else entirely? It is something I will need to think long and hard about.**

"Forgive me, I have taken up so much of your time. You must be tired. I will leave you to rest and tomorrow we will continue our lessons."

Then he bowed politely and left.

She stood, looking at the door that had seemed to disappear when it closed, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to laugh.

**Then he left me to rest. I know that it is inappropriate to be amused at such a time--but I just had another thought: Why is it that, when a gentleman doesn't know how to end an awkward conversation, they tell me I must be tired and command me to rest? Am I really so frail that I must take a nap between every conversation? Erik is not the first man to do this. How much sleep do they think I need? **

**In all truthfulness, I am not remotely tired. After all, I have only been awake a few hours.**

**So, here I am, writing for the third time in one day, wondering how much of my week here will be spent this way. **

**At least I have a lesson to look forward to tomorrow. Music has always been our bond. Perhaps there is something there I can use to get him to release me. **

**I don't believe for a second that he will let me go in five days. Sure, he said he would, but the man is not the most stable of individuals. One does not simply go through all the effort of impersonating a heavenly messenger, stalking a young woman for months, working inside her mind, and kidnapping her just to release her in five days. What would be the sense in that?**

**The uncertainty of it all unnerves me. **

**Until next time--be it an hour or a week…**

**Christine **


	16. Chapter 16

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera._

A/N: Thank you for all the nice reviews! I really have been trying to respond to them... hopefully soon the email alert problem will be all sorted out. Until then, please know that I am thankful for the encouragement.

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**Dear Journal,**

**Not much to report today. We have fallen into a sort of routine. Lessons in person are much different from lessons in my dressing-room. For one thing they are much longer. It's strange though, even though I sang for hours, I still feel as if I could sing some more. **

"Are you tired, my dear?"

"Not too much."

"How does your voice feel? Are you hoarse?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"Now that you mention it--no, not at all."

**I know that it is _my _voice and I am the one singing. But, all of me feel's like, when I am down here, _my _voice is _Erik's_ instrument. It is odd. It is like loaning someone your violin… only entirely different. What is even more strange is that Erik has the ability to touch my voice in a way that it never tires or hurts. I probably _should_ ponder this awhile… but I don't want to, so I will just leave it at that.**

He smiled. She couldn't see it, but she could hear in his voice that he was pleased.

"Excellent. One must always take care of one's instrument. If they do, it will never tire and serve them for a long time."

"Yes, Erik." she said obediently.

"Now, let us have some supper. Come along, Christine."

**What _has_ been bothering me lately is my eyesight. **

**I have always been extremely shortsighted. However, until now I had been able to function with relative normality. See, even now I am writing in this journal without too much of a problem--though, for what it's worth, I am probably squinting.**

**When I had lessons in my dressing-room, he always chose songs from the opera and I sang them from memory. It was a good system, I believed. **

**However, now that we have unlimited rehearsal time, he wishes for me to sight-read new pieces. **

"Christine, I think it is time we began some new music."

"As you wish, Erik. What would you like me to sing?"

"Something of my own composition."

"Don Juan Triumphant?"

"NO! Do not ask me that! That music was not meant for your innocent ears. Don Juan burns, but not with fire struck from Heaven."

_Well, I _could_ ask him what that is supposed to mean… but I don't think I will. Actually, I think I'll steer clear of as much burning hell-fire as I can down here. Moving right along then…_

"What then, sir?"

"Here is a song I wrote for you months ago."

**Now my eyes are fuzzy and out of focus. Something between the poor lighting and trying to read a bunch of little, tiny dots for hours on end has made this activity very difficult and tiring. **

"That's not right. Begin again." he said for the hundredth time

She began to sing again, but he stopped her again after a few lines.

"Christine!" he snapped, he was getting frustrated.

"What is it?" she asked, clearly annoyed but trying to stay calm.

"It is not _right_!"

"_What _is not right?" her voice was elevating

"The rhythms, the notes, _the words_, for goodness sake!" he was yelling now

She crossed her arms and scowled at him, not trusting herself to speak.

He continued to shout at her. "Have you been listening to _anything_ I have been trying to teach you? Are you trying to aggravate me on purpose?"

She did not answer, but returned his angry glare.

"What is the matter with you? Why can't you do this?"

"BECAUSE I CAN'T _SEE_ IT, DAMN YOU!" She screamed at him, throwing the sheet music on the piano and storming out of the room.

**Anyway, when I get tired, I get grumpy. I am afraid I didn't handle the whole thing in a very lady-like manner. **

For a moment, Erik sat there, stunned. Never before had he seen his angel lash out like that. He really wasn't sure what to make of it. His first impulse was to be angry, to break down her door and demand an explanation. That however, was quickly replaced by the urge to fall at her feet and beg forgiveness.

All in all, the poor man was very confused. He moved to the sofa and poured himself a glass of brandy. Then he sat and reflected on the situation.

_Of course she snapped at you, you fool!_ _You have been working her too hard! Even the most lovely of angels can only stand so much. _

_Why didn't she tell me she was having trouble seeing the music? _

_Would you have listened? You have the poor girl so scared out of her mind that she's afraid to breathe around you! _

_She is _not_ scared of me… she can't be. I love her. I would die if she was afraid of me. _

_Blast it all! I should have noticed she had a problem. In all this time… so many months of work… how could I have missed something so obvious? _

_Because _you_ were too selfish think about her needs. _

_NO! That is not possible… all I think about is her. _

_You think about her? Do you think about how much you want her? Or do you think about what's best for her? _

_I _am_ what is best for her… she has nothing but me! _

_STOP THIS MADNESS! I cannot… I _will _not let her go. Not yet. Not after I finally have her here with me. There must be some middle ground. She can learn to be happy here. I know it…_

After much deliberation, he rose from his seat and grabbed his hat and cloak. Without speaking to her, he carefully locked Christine's door--_can't have her wandering around alone down here--_and left the flat.

**I had just about calmed myself down enough to apologize for my outburst when I heard my door lock. Then my foul mood returned with a vengeance. It is not like I was going to go anywhere. Where would I go? Still, it irks me to no end that he locks me in here when I become an inconvenience. I am just like one of the little pet animals he keeps here. Shut the cage properly, or I might fly away! **

**Anyway, for a while I paced my room, feeling trapped. I tried thinking of Raoul. I have enough fond memories of him to cheer me up on most occasions. No such luck this time, though. **

**Actually, it had the opposite effect and depressed my quite efficiently. I wish I would have had the luxury of time to sit and work out my feelings for him, but it's too late for that now. I will never see my Raoul again. He is probably gone now anyway--moved on to another place and another girl. It's best that way, I suppose. At least that's what I have to tell myself.**

Raoul burst through the door of his brother's study. He had just spent another unsuccessful day searching for Christine. He paced around furiously, tearing at his hair and shaking like a madman. His brother looked at him indifferently, setting aside his book and pouring them both some brandy.

"It went that well?"

"Idiots! The whole lot of them!"

"The managers didn't know anything?"

"They said she was out sick."

"Did you offer to send a doctor?"

"Of course I did!" he snapped, "They said she didn't want one. Then I asked to speak with her and they said it was not possible. AGH! Why is this so difficult?"

"Did it occur to you that, perhaps she does not want to see you?"

He sighed miserably, "Yes, brother, the thought occurs to me every day."

"Then why beat yourself up over this?"

"You didn't see her back in Perros-Guirec. She was so frightened. No, something is not right. I will not oppose her wishes if she truly does not want me… but I have to know for sure. Please understand, Philippe, I cannot close my mind to this if I am always wondering what might have been."

Philippe nodded in acceptance. While he was not thrilled about his obsession with a chorus girl, he had yet to deny his little brother anything. And, as a man, he could identify with Raoul's desire to protect the pretty young woman--should she need rescuing. He just hoped the boy could get this madness out of his system before his heart broke too badly.

"I will speak to the managers myself tomorrow. I'm sure the prospect of losing the de Chagny financial backing might do something to loosen their tongues. In the meantime, why don't you go see that guardian of hers. Madame Valerius, if I remember correctly… I am fairly certain she and Christine have a flat nearby."

"Good idea. Thank you brother."

As Raoul turned to leave, Philippe called back to him.

"Raoul, a letter came for you today. There is a ship leaving soon for the North Pole. It is a search and rescue mission that should last about six months." he noted his brother's tense expression and continued slowly, choosing his words carefully. "If, for some reason, this whole thing with Mlle. Daae does not turn out how you would like… I think you should honestly consider taking the assignment. You might do well to get away for a bit."

Raoul began to protest, but Philippe held up his hands. "I'm not saying you have to go. I'm not even saying you have to answer now. Just… think about it. Ok?"

**It would be best for me not to think of him anymore. My feelings for him are now inconsequential and they distract me from my mission here. Besides, if Erik were to find out that I was sparing Raoul even the slightest thought… well, I shudder to think of what would happen. No, my time here must be spent thinking of nothing but Erik and myself. Once this is over, I'll do my grieving. **

**Finally, for lack of better things to do, I forced myself to take a nap. Some people can't sleep when they are angry, but I find it tremendously soothing. It means I can forget all my problems for a few hours. **

**Anyway, I fell asleep. I don't know how long I was out, but when I woke up, there was note on my dresser with a pair of eyeglasses.**

_My dearest Christine,_

_These are for you. I believe they will be of some use to you. I wish you had told me sooner that you were having problems. I know that you do not trust me yet, but I want you to know that I will _always_ take care of you. Please do not hesitate to tell me if there is something else you need to make your stay here more comfortable. No request is too great or too small. I would do anything for you, Christine._

_Eternally yours,_

_Erik_

**I suppose it was a nice gesture. I don't know if I will wear them or not. They are useful, as he said, but I don't want to look like an old lady. Goodness, that sounds worse on paper than it did in my mind! When did I become so vain?**

**Anyway, it was still a nice thing to do for me. I think he really does want to take care of me. If I wasn't so very angry with him I might find it endearing. **

**But, there is no time for that. I need to work on my game-plan to get him to let me go. I have ideas, but they need refinement. **

**I can't allow him to make things more complicated.**

**For now I must sign off. Two days left if he keeps his promise!**

**-Christine**


	17. Chapter 17

_Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Phantom of the Opera_

A/N: Well, I felt like the last chapter was kind of pointless (it's not, but is kind of seems that way at the moment) so I thought I'd write another today. This chapter is something of an emotional rollercoaster... I hope you like it.**

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**Dear Journal,**

**Well, I took off the mask. In retrospect, it was not the brightest thing I've done all day. It was probably a mistake, but there's no going back now.**

As Christine walked down the hall towards her room, she noticed that the door to Erik's music room was open a crack.

She went to the door and peeked inside. His back was turned to her and was at his organ, composing.

Very quietly, so not to disturb him, she entered the room and approached him from behind and watched as his fingers glided across the keys.

_He is so graceful… so in control. Of course he's in control, he is in his element. Everything is planned. No surprises. He controls everything down here. Even me. I wonder how he would act if something didn't go according to plan… if he was caught off guard. What would he do without his mask? Maybe, if he realizes I won't blindly go along with him… won't be his obedient little pet… maybe then he'll decide that I'm not worth the trouble… maybe, maybe he'll send me away… let me go, Erik, I want to go home…_

**I often wonder why I do the things I do. I just woke up this morning in such a desperate panic to leave that my sense of timing was a little off.**

"Have you come for another lesson, Christine?" his voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up at him. His back was still to her, he had not turned around. _How did he know I was here?_

"Yes" she said, simply, not knowing what else to say.

He sighed and smiled slightly beneath the mask. _She came to me willingly… she enjoys my company!_

"Let's begin with a duet, shall we?" Not waiting for an answer, he began to play the introduction.

As he played she moved closer to him. With each step, Erik felt his heart quicken. When he felt her little hand resting gently on his shoulder, he thought he would die of happiness.

He turned to face her. There was so much he wanted to say to her. _Oh how I love you!_ He felt as if he had finally been handed everything he had ever wanted in life.

That is when _it_ happened…

**For the record, the whole encounter went differently in my imagination.**

When he felt the cold air on his bare skin, everything seemed to move in slow motion. He saw the black leather mask hit the floor, the look of terror and shock on his angel's face, a mess of blond hair as she turned to run from him. _Oh no you don't, Christine, it's too late for that!_

He grabbed her wrists and pulled her against his chest, her forehead barely reaching his chin.

**I can't describe to you what it was like to look in the face of death, so I won't begin to try. **

His face was death itself. Thin skin stretched over his skull, so pale that she could see the blood pulsing through his blue veins. His nose was nothing more than a hole in the center of his face. Deformed lips twisted into a snarl as he drew her small body closer. _His eyes_… his eyes appeared to be missing entirely. Two black, empty eye sockets stared into Christine with burning intensity. It was then that she realized that she had only been able to see his blazing eyes in the dark… she wished for darkness more now than ever before. Fear of the unknown was nothing compared to fear of _this_.

She tried to pull away but he held her fast, thrusting his hands into her hair and forcing her to look at him.

"Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?" he growled, his throat panting and throbbing like a furnace. "Look at me, Christine! Look on this face that brings nothing but suffering!"

"E-Erik I--"

"You what? You're _sorry_? Oh no, my dear, it is too late for that. Perhaps you wonder if this is another mask? Hmm? Shall we take it off and see?"

"No!"

He laughed… the wicked type of laugh that indicates a complete loss of sanity. He roughly grasped her hands in his own and forced her fingernails into his face until blood began to flow.

Just as quickly, he thrust her away from him, throwing her to the floor. When she fell, the corner of the piano bench grazed her temple.

Taking no notice or concern of her frighten pleas, he continued to rant. "Don't apologize to _me, _Christine, apologize to yourself! Don't you see? As long as you thought me handsome, you might have come back… but now… a woman who sees Erik's face… she loves him forever… she belongs to him… don't you see? You can _never _leave here!"

Then, as if coming out of a chance, he looked down into the eyes of the frightened girl before him. She was no longer crying, no longer screaming or pleading with him. She had pushed herself back on the floor until her back hit a wall. Now she sat, eyes wide, trembling and holding her already bruising forehead in her hands.

Almost instantly, he fell on his knees before her, grasping at her skirts and weeping.

"Christine… Christine…" he moaned her name over and over again, rocking back and forth, as if it could offer him some comfort.

"I am so sorry… please forgive me. I want nothing more to be handsome for you… you… my angel… you deserve nothing less. I am nothing more than your pitiful servant… who loves you and adores you and will never, _ever _leave you! _Oh… oh… _but your Erik is nothing but a corpse... a corpse who loves you... Please forgive me!"

**I suddenly understand so much more about Erik. I can't hate him. I never _really_ did, although I probably should… but now I definitely can't. I pity him, I truly do. What horrors has this man endured? How terrible must life have been for this powerful, dominating man to crawl on the floor and weep like an infant because of his own face? **

The sight of Erik's tears was almost more powerful than his anger. Her heart went out to the man as he crawled before her, begging her forgiveness when it was _she_ who betrayed _him_.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached out to him. She slipped behind him, wrapping on arm around his chest and the other around his waist and drawing him down so that his head and shoulders rested in her lap.

Erik marveled at this woman. After all he had done to her, after all she had seen… here she was, cradling his trembling form, rocking him gently, stroking his hair and whispering soothing words in his ear as he sobbed in her arms.

She held him like this for quite some time, finding it strangely comfortable, until she noticed his steady breathing and realized he had fallen asleep.

**The day wasn't a total wash, though. I sat with him until he fell asleep. I'm not sure if he forgives me or not. He didn't reject my comfort (I couldn't leave him crying--even in my anger I am not that cruel) so I can only assume he is not still angry with me. Only time will tell for sure, but I can't help but believe that I have undone any progress I might have made in my attempt to leave this place. **

Ever so gently, so not to wake him, she moved her knee out from under him, instead cushioning his head with a pillow from the divan.

She set his mask within arm's reach so that he wouldn't panic when he woke up. As an afterthought, she found a blanket and draped it over him. _It is unreasonably cold down here…_

Christine then lingered a moment to study the sleeping form in front of her. He was hideous, she could not deny that. However he was much less intimidating as he slept. _He looks like a little child, _she thought, _a little… dead child… but a child nonetheless. _She pushed the thought from her mind roughly when she caught herself fighting the impulse to press a kiss to that white forehead. _That is morbid, Christine. He's not a child… he is a bad man… an ugly spider… a kidnapper… a murderer… a corpse, for goodness sake!… stop thinking in fairy tales… what, do you expect him to turn into a handsome prince? Life doesn't work that way… don't delude yourself or you're both going to get hurt._

**There's nothing to do but try to sleep and see what tomorrow brings. **

**A million more days to go,**

**Christine**


	18. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Phantom of the Opera. This story is based on the novel by Leroux._

Author's note: No action in this chapter, just some of Christine's musings in the aftermath of the last chapter. She must make an important decision.

Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed, I have responses for you all but I don't know if you'll get them or not with the email alert thing being all wacky. Anyway, just know that I have been very encouraged. LonesomeGurlAngelofDeath: I think your question calls for a more immediate response than the others... I think you might have missed at least four chapters. Erik and Christine meet in person around chapter 13.

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**My Journal,**

**After my rather unsettling encounter with my unmasked captor, I have had some time to reflect. **

**Well, to be perfectly honest, the first thing I did when I got back to my room was destroy everything in my path that irritated me for one reason or another. That includes my new spectacles--which my subconscious likely blames for my clear, unobstructed view of, well, _that_--which are now in tiny pieces on my dresser. I have to admit that I did not think that one through. I wonder how I will explain it to Erik. **

**But, as I was saying, reflection soon followed. Erik has avoided me for a day and a half now. In truth, I have not made the slightest effort to seek him out either. I suppose we both need time to think.**

**Now I have come to a startling revelation and I am faced with the decision of how to proceed. Thinking back on how Erik accepted my comfort the other night, I realized that I now know his weakness. I have discovered the way that this man wants to be touched, the way that I can manipulate him. **

**I could not escape by force--he is much stronger than he looks**

**I can not run away--even if I could find my way through the traps and locks, even if I could figure out where I am and find a place to hide, he would likely come find me. I'd rather not get into _that_ whole mess.**

**These things I already knew. That is how I had concluded that he needs to let me go willingly. Now, how would I go about that?**

**He did not respond to demands. **

**Threats didn't work. I have a feeling he's dealt with worse. Even my threat to despise him didn't result in my freedom--as I have mentioned, he seems to have accepted the fact that I don't love him. I can't go so far as to say it doesn't matter to him… I just think he's resigned himself to it already. **

**Begging and pleading is pointless as well.**

**I think my tears may have hurt him some. He hates it when I cry. But it did not make him let me go.**

**I won't bother any more with stroking his ego. I did a little bit of that a few days ago when I marveled over some of his creations--which, actually, are all brilliant. But that only seemed to encourage him--the exact opposite of the effect I was looking for--so I put a stop to that right away.**

**I also wouldn't bother with teasing or playing with him, nor would I try to annoy him into sending me away. He is not the type of man who could be provoked into doing what I want. No, I expect that would only make things worse.**

**I thought to humiliate him, and infuriate him when I took away his mask. You see how well that turned out. **

**Actually, I had originally thought that unmasking him was my biggest blunder. But, in the end, it gave me what I needed to read the unreadable man. **

**Softness. That is what he will respond to. I could see it in the way he let me comfort him. Gentleness is how I can master him.**

**That is what disturbs me so. **

**For me to manipulate him this way… it means giving him hope that I don't intend to follow up on. It means gaining his trust and toying with his heart. **

**Am I so selfish that I would further crush an already broken man just to get what I want? Then again, maybe he deserves it. After all, wasn't it equally selfish of him to take me away from the world so he could keep me to himself?**

**How bad would it be to stay here? I have no friends. Raoul is gone. Nobody at the opera likes me and, when I sing… well, not long ago I told Erik's disembodied voice that I sang only for him. I did not think much of it at the time, but it is true. Even when all of Paris is watching me, I am only wondering if my teacher approves. So, I have nothing to lose. I have nowhere else to be, nothing better to do. Why not sacrifice my miserable life for someone else's happiness… even if that someone else is likely Evil Incarnate? It would be a noble gesture, at any rate. **

**I should not think thoughts like this. When I do I realize that I have begun to despair so much that I no longer care what happens to me. Is this what depression feels like?**

**I would miss Mamma Valerius, though. Oh how I wish I could speak to her! Could she even help me still? Or is she too far gone with angels and fantasies? Why did Father have to leave me? I really need him right now. **

**So here I am, with the key to my freedom, wondering if it is worth the cost. If only there was another way to control him... I wish there was another way! I want so badly to leave this place… to leave _him_. But, when all this is said and done, will I be able to look at myself in the mirror knowing I betrayed another this way?**

**That is the decision I must come to terms with.**

**Truly,**

**Christine**


	19. Chapter 19

**To my Journal:**

**I have made my decision. I wrestled with it for hours after I last wrote. Two steps forward, one step back… not really coming any closer to some sort of conclusion. That is when I heard _it…_**

She lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, exhausted, but not about to sleep. All night she had alternated between pacing and lying down.

Then, music traveled down the hall from Erik's room, filling every crack and every corner with unearthly sound.

Christine sat up and listened for a moment, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. At first it sounded like one long, inhuman moan. But, as she listened, she soon heard the tune transform and represent every aspect of suffering ever known to mankind and a few--she was certain--that could only be felt by the angels (or demons) themselves.

**Don Juan Triumphant. **

For a few minutes she could do nothing but listen. Her body, her mind, all frozen in place by the hypnotic melody.

Her mind broke free before her body could respond. It begged her to react, to weep, to scream, to do _something_ to release some of the pain that was threatening to consume her very soul. But she could not weep, she could not scream. All she could do was listen.

**He was not lying when he said that it burned not with fire from Heaven. **

She began to panic. Since her mind didn't know how to react, it told her to escape. She shut her door, put her hands over her ears, hid under her pillows. It did not matter. The music was still with her. It was everywhere. It surrounded her and saturated her so fully that she could no longer decipher what was in her ears and what was coming from her mind.

**The burning of _Don Juan_ is not a warm, fuzzy feeling. It is a true fire that burns through your soul. It is not the kind of burning that one might hear about in stories of heroism or romance either. No, it is the kind of burning that one would feel trapped in the pit of Hell. An anguished, lamenting, tortured burn with no hope of escape or relief. **

Her breath quickened, her heart raced, her eyes burned with tears that would not come, she tore at her hair and paced like a caged animal. When she could take no more she threw herself onto her bed and pounded her fists into the mattress. Her mind screamed what her voice could not.

_STOP IT! STOP IT! GO AWAY! MAKE IT STOP! _

**I thought I could stay here in Hell with Erik. I knew I would be unhappy, but I was unprepared for _this_. No, it is no longer a question of happiness, it is a question of sanity--for I know now that, if I stay, Don Juan would surely drive me mad. **

The music ceased as abruptly as it began. She almost had to wonder if he had heard her silent pleas. Christine lay on the bed, trembling, and trying to recover from a torture worse than the hot irons of the executioner.

Meanwhile, footsteps could be heard down the hall... a soothing, steady beat in the aftermath of what she had just experienced. They gradually grew louder as they approached.

The footsteps stopped in front of her room and Erik opened to door just a crack.

"Christine," he said coldly, "I am going out for a few hours. I will return to fix you supper."

Then the door shut and she heard the lock click into place.

**I know now what I have to do. There is no other way. I only pray that there is forgiveness somewhere in Heaven or elsewhere for what I am about to do. **

Christine stayed still for a few minutes, until she was sure he was really gone. Then she made her way over to the door that was once again hidden in the wall. It took her only a few seconds to find the latch.

Then, pulling out a hairpin, she set to work at picking the lock.

**Kyrie Eleison.**

**Christine **


	20. Chapter 20

**Journal,**

**Trust. That is what I need first if I am to continue with my agenda. I do not trust him and, since the _incident_, I can only assume that he does not trust me. Fortunately, it is easier to fake trust than it is to build it. **

Once she had made her decision, Christine's mind went into business-mode. Her conscience was put on the back burner for now. She would have time to come to grips with that later. Nothing else mattered except her mission and everything she would do from now on would be with one goal in mind. Freedom.

She began by picking the lock to her door when Erik left the house. When she had unlocked her bedroom door she went to Erik's library to fetch a book. When she returned to her room, she made sure that the door would stay noticeably open. Then she double checked her hair and appearance and settled down in a large chair with her book.

**I picked the lock easily enough. Now, keeping a straight face through Erik's reaction, that was the hard part! I wonder if he has realized just who he is dealing with. Somehow I doubt it. **

Before too long, she heard the sound of Erik returning. She looked discreetly over the top of her book, waiting for the familiar shadow that would fill up her door way.

For a moment, he just stood there in the already open door, staring. Christine pretended to be so engrossed in what she was reading that she did not notice him.

Finally, she heard him clear his throat to alert her of his presence. She looked up and smiled softly.

**I had no desire to escape--not yet anyway. Where would I go? No, I just needed him to know that I _could_ have tried to run but didn't.**

"Erik," she said sweetly, "you're back."

"Indeed. What do you think you are doing?" he demanded. He had been caught off guard. The last thing he expected upon returning was to find her room unlocked _and_ her still sitting inside. _How did she get the door open? Why didn't she try to leave?_

"Reading and waiting for you. Why, is something the matter?"

He gestured to her and then to the door.

"Oh, that," she shrugged, casually, "You were gone, I wanted to read a book, so I picked the lock." she said simply, as if it were the most natural progression of things.

Erik was stunned. _What does she think she is doing?_ On the one hand, he wanted to be angry. On the other hand, he was thrilled she hadn't run away. _She probably realizes she can't get past the traps. Then why would she work so hard to open the door? Maybe she doesn't like being caged up any more than I did…_ the usually composed, eloquent man was speechless.

She took encouragement from the silence. "I think earlier you said something about supper?"

"Yes… um… indeed I did. Right this way then."

He turned to leave but he stilled as he felt her hand on his elbow. He looked at her, searching her eyes for… something… he didn't know what. She blushed under his gazed and looked away.

"Sorry… I just… well, sorry, I didn't mean to be so bold. Forgive me, monsieur." she said nervously, pulling back her hand.

His eyes grew wide. _She _wants _to touch me? What on earth is happening?_ "No, no… please," he said, offering his arm to her again. She took it without hesitation, smirking ever so slightly as she let him lead her out.

**I can sense that he _wants_ to trust me. He loves me, after all. He just needs a little encouragement. **

Erik watched her throughout dinner, wishing beyond all else that he could see inside her mind. He had been ready to fall at her feet once again and beg her forgiveness. Earlier today he had left to survey the progress on the chandelier and auditorium. While he was there, he left some more notes to a few key people, ensuring that, once repairs were complete, Christine would take Carlotta's place as the lead in _Faust_ and that no one would make mention of her 'extended vacation'.

He couldn't have been more shocked when he returned home. _For one thing, where did my little angel learn how to pick a lock? _If he had known, he would have built her door differently. _Then again, if she could have gotten out all this time, why did she stay? _

She no longer shied away from his gaze, she looked back into his eyes, his intensity meeting her softness. Occasionally, when one of them said something, she'd look away briefly, but she'd always return with a blush and affectionate smile.

_What is she thinking about? What has changed? Is it my face… does she pity me? _

He didn't really want her pity, but he'd gladly accept it if that was all she had to offer. He would welcome, with open arms, anything that could cause her to react to him so warmly (_or_, _dare I say it… lovingly?_).

**This game has two parts. First, he has to learn to trust me. Second, he needs to believe that I trust him. **

"Can I help you clean up?" she asked after dinner.

"No, my dear, I will take care of it. Why don't you go rest?"

_Ah yes, I forgot, I've been up for more than fifteen minutes, I must be exhausted! _"Erik, I haven't seen you all day. Please let me help you? Come on, I'll wash, you dry." she said lightly as she made her way to the kitchen.

As they finished up the dishes, he sighed and said again, "You know, you really don't have to do this, you are a guest here in my home."

"Don't be silly, Erik. I like spending time doing things with--OW!" she shouted, clutching her hand. As she was speaking, she had not been paying attention to the knife she was washing and ended up with a small cut across her hand.

In less than a second, Erik was at her side with a dry towel.

"Christine!" he cried out.

**For what it's worth, my accident in the kitchen really was an accident. It just worked out well.**

Taking the knife away from her, he snatched up her hand in his and began wiping the blood away with the towel. "Oh, Christine…" he moaned. She shuddered at the raw anguish in his voice.

He sat her down in a comfortable chair and told her to hold the towel against the cut while he gathered some supplies. With inhuman speed and efficiency he was back, kneeling at her feet, gently bandaging her hand.

"How could I have let this happen?" he said angrily. _What is wrong with me? All I ever manage to do is hurt her!_

"It's not your fault, Erik, I should have been paying closer attention."

Christine hissed and looked away when he poured a few drops of antiseptic on the open cut. However, instead of pulling away, she put her other hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered, wiping a tear from her eye with the pad of his thumb.

She forced a smile and shook her head. "Not anymore. Thank you, Erik." she said honestly and let her uninjured hand graze the side of his neck as she brought it down from his shoulder.

He shivered noticeably and stood up. "Well, mademoiselle, I won't keep you any longer. I'll be in my study if you need anything." With that, he abruptly left the room. Christine watched him practically launch himself out the door and it took nearly all her self control to stifle the laugh that threatened to ensue.

**Actually, he needs to think that I not only trust him but also _depend_ on him. He is a man after all, he wants to be needed. **

"Erik?"

He looked up from the book he was reading to find Christine standing in the doorway. She had changed into a light housedress and her hair was down. He almost gasped. _My angel!_

He still could not believe she was here, in his home, looking so comfortable.

"Yes?" he finally choked out, more harshly than he intended.

She jumped slightly at his tone, but pressed on anyway. Looking at the ground, she shuffled a bit and asked, "Are you very busy?"

For a moment, when he saw her jump, Erik was afraid she might leave. _You idiot! You've frightened her again! _He breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't run away and he responded carefully, as if trying to coax a wounded animal, "No, my dear, not at all. Please come in. Is there something I can do for you?"

Christine rewarded him with a smile and happily floated into the room and knelt beside his chair. She took one of his hands in hers and presented him with her silver hairbrush. He did not take it but cocked his head to the side in a gesture of confusion. She giggled.

"Will you help me?" she asked sweetly, placing the brush firmly in his hand, "I'm afraid my hair is getting too long for me to do this myself." She sat down at his feet, turning away from him so that he could reach the long strands of blond hair that spilled down past her shoulders onto her back. "Please?" she said again, hopefully, after he made no further movement.

A faint groan escaped from the back of Erik's throat when his trembling hands first came in contact with her silky hair. _Surely there is nothing else under Heaven that had been made this soft!_

"Perhaps I should cut it," she mused.

He stopped his ministrations and said adamantly, "No… Christine, you mustn't do that! You're hair is lovely. You should not change it."

She smiled and sighed contentedly, sitting back further against his knees. She actually had to keep from nodding off. She had forgotten how relaxing it is to have another brush her hair.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, she finally spoke.

"I made quite a mess of things the other night, didn't I?"

Erik could have laughed at the simplicity of her words in describing one of the more horrific moments of his miserable life. Instead he just sighed fondly and fastened her long tresses into a loose braid.

"It's behind us now, child. I can't tell you to forget what you've seen… I know that the sight will undoubtedly haunt you for some time. But, if you can try to not let it trouble you, I assure you that it is an experience you will never have to repeat."

**I may have gone too far when I brought up his mask. **

"Actually, Erik," she said as she turned to face him, "I have been meaning to talk to you about that."

He began to speak but she hushed him, setting aside the brush and taking his hands between her own. "My reaction was… you see… I think you misunderstood…" she took a deep breath and organized her words, "I was shocked, I won't lie to you. You have always been so very gentle with me… and then… I have never seen such anger, Erik. You frightened me, Erik, but not in the way you think."

She took another deep breath and looked away from him, turning her head just enough that the light shined onto the purple bruise that began at her temple and disappeared into her hairline. Erik gasped and touched her chin so that she faced him again.

"Did I do this?" he whispered, this fingertips barely brushing against the bruised skin. She nodded, but did not pull away from him.

"Oh, Christine… what have I done to you? If any other had hurt you this way I would kill him in a heartbeat. This… this deserves nothing less than death… I am so very, very sorry…"

Christine could tell by his shuddering breath that the man was crying. She moved his hand to the side of her face and pressed it to her cheek with her hand.

"Erik," she said, smiling softly, "It's not as bad as it looks. You said yourself, we should put it behind us. But that is not what I wanted to talk to you about."

She looked him squarely in the eye, pleading for him to believe her. "I want you to know that," _Breathe, Christine… say it quickly so he won't see the lie…_ "I want you to know that the mask doesn't matter to me. You can wear it or not wear it, but I want you to do so based on your own comfort. I admit that I was shocked at first, but your face no longer holds any fear with me."

To prove her point, she slowly moved her hands toward him, taking the mask between her fingers and lifting it away from his face. His eyes clamped shut and his breath grew ragged but he made no move to stop her. _I must see if what she is saying is true…_

**I don't know why it occurred to me to take it off him. But that is a decision I guess I'll just have to live with. He seemed to appreciate the gesture, at any rate. **

He opened his eyes to see her looking fondly upon him. He could detect no fear or disgust in her eyes and he exhaled the breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Christine had also been holding her breath, but for a different reason. She remembered the horrors of his face and had wondered if she could control her reaction if she saw it again. Thankfully, it was not nearly as bad without her glasses.

They both laughed nervously. "There, that's much better." she said decisively.

Then, in a dramatic gesture she tossed the mask over her shoulder. However, the discarded accessory bounced on the floor, straight into the roaring fireplace.

Erik was flabbergasted.

Christine was mortified.

"Erik! I am so sorry!" She blushed furiously and buried her face in her hands. Erik chuckled. She looked adorable when she was embarrassed.

"Well, I'm glad you are so accepting, my dear, but you didn't have to go so far as to burn my mask," he said teasingly. She laughed then, and he reveled in the fact that he had caused that heavenly sound.

"You are not angry?" she asked, still blushing.

"At you, my dear? Never. Besides, I have more masks should you ever change your mind."

For a second they just stared in each other's eyes. Erik had the sudden urge to reach out and kiss her. _Easy, man, that's too far. Let her alone. Go calm down. _

Luckily she broke the silence first. "Well, I guess it's getting late. I should go to bed. Goodnight, Erik. I will see you in the morning."

"Yes," he murmured, the moment broken but still slightly entranced. "Sweet dreams, Christine. I will see you tomorrow. Perhaps you would like to go for a ride with me?"

"I'd like that very much. Thank you, Erik. I mean it. Thank you for everything."

**I made definite progress today. Tomorrow he is taking me on a ride. I have a hunch it might be a test. However, I have no intention of running then either. No, I will wait and be patient. He'll let me go willingly. I am sure of it.**

**Perhaps I can convince him to take me to visit Mamma. That would be nice.**

**Until tomorrow,**

**Christine**


	21. Chapter 21

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera._

Author's Note: If you are like me, you are probably hating Christine right now. But, she's a broken person just like Erik is (only different). Not to mention, if you remember, in the book she confesses to lying a lot to Erik as the price of her freedom. Poor guy. Anyway, she'll get what's coming to her... It'll all work out eventually, I promise. I appreciate your reviews. **

* * *

**

**Dear Journal,**

**Our little outing complicated matters. **

"Christine?" Erik called out. He was nervous and impatient all morning. _Why did I offer to take her out? What was I thinking?_ After their pleasant evening together, Erik thought that maybe Christine was warming up to him. He knew he couldn't keep her underground forever, though he was sorely tempted. However, he wasn't quite ready to send her back up and trust her to return to him. This excursion would be an acceptable balance and an excellent test of Christine's intentions. _Yes… yes it is the only reasonable compromise. It is a perfect solution…_ he kept telling himself. However, it did nothing to ease his anxiety.

"I'm ready, Erik" she answered cheerily, practically skipping out of her room to greet him.

"You're awfully excited…" he said, eyes narrowing. "Does the thought of leaving here please you so much?"

Christine paled but recovered almost immediately. "No, silly! I'm excited to finally go outside with you. Just think," she sighed wistfully, "you and me, taking a nice relaxing ride in the sunshine. Plus, I get to see Mamma Valerius… what's not to be pleased about?"

The answer seemed to appease the masked man because he nodded curtly in acknowledgment and offered his arm to the young woman. She took it without hesitation as she had last time, ignoring the chill that accompanied the physical contact. Erik decided that, if he lived to be a thousand, he would never get used to the feeling of having a beautiful woman on his arm. Christine tried not to cringe at the look of absolute joy in those blazing eyes.

**We went to see Mamma. I had _not_ expected Raoul to be there.**

"Madame Valerius, is what you are saying true? Is Christine engaged to someone?"

"No, no, dear, that is not what I said at all. Christine is not engaged to any man. What I said was that she is not free to be pursued."

"Why ever not, then?" asked a red-faced Raoul. He was getting frustrated with Mamma's broken logic and circular reasoning. He had been pressing the old woman for information off and on for days now and was no closer to finding Christine than he was to begin with.

"Because, dear boy, the Angel forbids it." she said simply, a contented smile etched across her wrinkled face.

"The Angel…" he repeated, rocking his head in his hands. They were not getting anywhere.

"Madame," he said, standing abruptly, "I think I am in need of some fresh air. I am going to take a walk. I do have some additional questions, would you mind if I met you for tea in a few hours?"

"Of course, dear boy, I am always happy to have visitors. I don't have visitors for tea very much anymore… my Christine used to come by nearly every day but I haven't seen her recently. Do you know where my Christine is?" she asked hopefully

Raoul released a frustrated grunt and left the flat.

**What was I supposed to do? I had assumed Raoul would have taken my rejection and moved on. I thought I'd never see him again. So, when I spoke with Mamma and she told me Raoul was looking for me, I didn't know what to make of it.**

"Mamma? Mamma it's Christine, are you up?"

"Oh Christine! I am so happy to see you!" the white haired woman exclaimed warmly, her forget-me-not eyes sparkling with excitement. The younger woman embraced her surrogate mother and they chatted together happily. It wasn't until Mamma brought up the Angel of Music that Christine became very serious.

"And how is your good genius?"

"He is fine, Mamma. You needn't worry about me."

"Well, I am not. He has taken such good care of you."

"Yes, Mamma," she replied solemnly

Mamma put her finger to her lips in thought. "You know who _is _worried about you?" she mused, "That little friend of yours… what was his name… you two used to play together…"

Christine felt like she was going to be ill. "Raoul?" she asked, carefully

"Yes! Raoul, that's him! He comes by asking for you almost every day."

**I realize that I need to deal with Raoul's persistence. Dear Raoul! My heart breaks just to think his name. Maybe it's because I miss him, maybe it's because of my _current situation_… I don't know, but I find myself more in love with him each day I am down here. He is so… normal. He represents everything I always wanted my life to be. Whereas Erik--No, I'm not even going to think about that right now.**

**I love Raoul too much to bring him into this mess. I could never live with myself if I knew Erik had killed him because of me. However, I think that Raoul will not stop looking for me until I have a chance to speak with him. **

**I know that my Raoul is a true gentleman at heart. If he believes that I am interested in another man, he will back off out of respect for me. So, I will just have to speak with him and convince him that I am truly not interested. **

**But how do I get word to him without upsetting Erik?**

**Suddenly, I remembered the annual masked ball held at the Opera this time of year. As luck would have it, it is only a few days away. **

**I decided to write a note to leave with Mamma for Raoul in case he returned. **

"There, that should do it. And you will get this to Raoul?" Christine asked. She hoped that she had been careful enough in her letter. She intended to keep Raoul and Erik far away from each other that evening, but she would need Raoul's cooperation.

"Of course, my dear. I'll get it to him today, even." Mamma smiled. Christine wrung her hands nervously. She had not planned for any of this and it was taking some quick course corrections in her scheme to make it all work.

"What do you mean, today? Is Raoul coming here today?"

"Yes he is. As a matter of fact, he should be here any moment."

Christine's eyes grew wide. "Mamma!" she shouted, feeling somewhat lightheaded. "Why didn't you tell me? Oh, what have I done? I must leave! I must go right now! Goodbye, Mamma."

**He did return. Sooner than I thought.**

At a hurried pace, though still trying to look natural, Christine made her way down the brick path, toward the big black carriage where Erik was to be waiting for her.

Just then, Raoul turned the corner and, recognizing Christine immediately, called out to her.

"Christine!" She turned around briefly and, seeing who it was, quickened her stride.

"Christine!" He shouted again. She began to run. _Damn it, Raoul! You are going to get us both killed!_

As she approached the carriage, she saw the door swing open for her and the horses stamping impatiently. _Oh, what have I done? This was not my fault… how can I make him see that? _her mind raced, trying to think of what to say to the masked man.

**I had to do some quick thinking to explain it all to Erik. Oddly enough, if I had simply told the truth (minus the part about the letter, of course), I doubt that he would have believed me. **

Erik had heard the commotion from the carriage and saw Christine running towards him with the viscomte close behind her.

When he pulled her into the cab, the horses took off at a run.

"What is the meaning of this?" he growled, angry golden eyes flashing in the darkness.

She took a few seconds, wanting to catch her breath. Erik's eyes narrowed in irritation. "Well?" he demanded.

Christine fixed her frantic gaze to Erik's intense one. She forced herself to keep eye contact with him and not so much as glance over her shoulder to see if the viscomte was still following.

"Raoul…" she said hoarsely, breathlessly… and then collapsed into Erik's shoulder in tears.

**I find it disconcerting that I have built up this world with Erik and myself in that lies are more believable than the truth. **

The masked man tensed. "What's wrong, _my dear_?" he sneered, pulling back to look into her tear-stained face. "Are you missing your _lover_? Do you cry because it is _his_ arms you long for? Do you--"

**I don't know exactly why I said everything I did. I was so frantic, near hysterical. My emotions were so raw that, as I was speaking, I couldn't tell what was the truth and what was not. I just cried and said whatever came to mind. **

She shook her head, scowling, and cut him off as if he had never spoken in the first place. "Oh Erik!" she cried, "I was having such a wonderful day… I didn't know _he_ would show up…"

Erik found his anger dissipate slightly at her disdainful tone. He searched Christine's face, trying to ascertain if what she was saying was the truth, but she was more or less unreadable.

**I thought, perhaps, if I was as irate about the situation as he was, he might believe that I am blameless in this. **

"Erik… how could I have been such a fool?" she moaned, rocking her head back and forth in a gesture of unbearable stress "I didn't want to see him today… I swear it… please believe me… Oh Erik! I should have listened to you in the beginning. I should have never spoken to him when I saw him at the Opera. Why did I ever think I could like him? I should have known he was interested in me. I should have known he wouldn't quit… that he wouldn't go away… Erik… Erik…. I am so stupid! Can you ever forgive me?"

**It was certainly not my intention to blame Raoul for anything. On the contrary, I would much prefer if Erik stayed far away from Raoul. However, currently it is in my best interest if he still trusts me. That is the only way I'll be able to help Raoul. **

As she continued to rant, Erik considered what she was saying. _She _was_ running away from him…_ he thought, _she was running towards _you_. She has tried to obey you. That means something right? Maybe she really does not have feelings for the boy… Think of your time together, the way she has treated you… that must stand for something. No, it is not her fault she is an angel. It is not her fault that every man on earth would want her. But not every man can have her. No, she belongs to _you_. The boy must be dealt with…_

"Christine, shhhh, Christine," he soothed. He cupped her face between his hands and wiped away her tears and brushed back the hair that had fallen in her face.

"You are not stupid, my dear. Of course this is not your fault. Sometimes you are just too innocent for your own good," he chuckled.

"I am so, so sorry…" she whispered. _Oh Erik, I truly am sorry! Raoul, I am sorry! How did this happen to me?_

"There is nothing to be sorry for, child. You were right to tell me about him. Dear Christine, you are truly an angel."

**Not all of the conversation was a lie. I'm sure of that much at least. Actually, for a short time, I found myself speaking as freely to him as I had back when he was simply The Voice. **

She sighed and allowed him to comfort her. They sat in silence for a while, neither knowing what to say next. Suddenly a thought came to Erik. He had wondered ever since he came home to find Christine's door unlocked but had yet to ask. He figured now was as good a time as any.

"Christine?"

"Mmm?"

"How did you learn how to pick a lock?"

She blushed and looked away. "Are you very angry about that?" she asked sheepishly.

"No, not at all," he assured her, "I was just… surprised. That is not a skill you see often in proper young ladies."

"Oh," she said, her face flushing an even deeper scarlet, "well, I suppose you can thank my father for that. He was the most wonderful and most forgetful man I have ever known. He locked himself out of anything and everything. On more than a few occasions, he would lock his violin case only to lose the keys just before a concert. When I was a little girl, I learned how to pick a lock with a hairpin. It saved us both some time and hassle" Her voice was distant, filled with fondness and affection. Erik wondered if there would ever be a time when she would speak of him that way.

"It sounds like you loved him very much," he mused absently.

"I did." she murmured. He saw a dark shadow pass through Christine's eyes and realized that he might have gone to far by bringing her father up. She stared ahead at nothing in particular. Her eyebrows knitted together in thought and she continued to speak.

"I still think of him every day. When he died, I thought… This is it. This is the end. I didn't think I had any reason to continue. When my mother had died, at least she didn't leave me alone. I had my father and we could share some of the hurt together. Then… when my father died, I had no one… especially after Raoul left… well, I had Mamma Valerius, which isn't the same… but at least I was not completely on my own. Now Mamma is sick. Erik, she is not doing well at all. Sometimes I feel like the universe wants me to be alone. Why does everyone I love leave me?"

Erik looked down at her, feeling a familiar ache in his chest. _I feel like that too, Christine…_

"I will not leave you, Christine." he whispered.

She sighed and leaned into him again. This time he responded by putting an arm around her shoulder and drawing her close. She didn't resist him but, rather, laid her head down on his chest.

"I know you won't," she sighed, believing it, but not sure how she felt about it.

After a few minutes, the tension created by the raw emotion in the air had mostly dissolved. For Erik, it was replaced with thought. For Christine, exhaustion. She dozed off, unconsciously snuggling into him, feeling oddly comfortable asleep in his arms.

**And so, as I said, things are complicated. I am in love with Raoul. I need to protect him at all costs. But he seems determined to make it difficult for me. **

Raoul yelled Christine's name into the street until the mysterious carriage was nothing more than a black dot in the distance.

He stamped his foot, ground his teeth, tore at his hair, cursing all women. _I have been an idiot! Allowing that woman to lead me on… only to run off with someone else right in front of me. Doesn't she see how I suffer? Raoul, how that little fairy of the North as trifled with you! She, who always blushed and giggled and looked so innocent… just to run off with some mysterious lover. _

Raoul hated women. He detested Christine. He had fallen in love with an angel and now despised a woman. He despised her even worse because of the fact that he still loved her.

The world looked greyer to Raoul. He had grown bitter and cynical in the last few months. Christine had worked her way into his heart and then crushed it in her little hands. Raoul was only twenty, and yet he was ready to die.

On impulse, he continued on back to Madame Valerius' house. At least he'd have a warm place to wait until his carriage returned to take him home. When he came in, he saw a letter waiting for him on the table.

_Dearest Raoul:_

_I will be at the masked ball on the night after tomorrow. Plan on meeting me there. Do not tell anyone of this appointment. Where a white domino and, if you love me, do not let yourself be recognized._

_-Christine_

Suddenly, he was filled with a new sense of energy. He hurried out, deciding to walk home and stop by the costume shop on the way. _She loves me! She loves me! She loves me!_

**I think I have it all figured out. The game has gotten slightly more difficult, but I shall just have to adjust. I can handle this. Although, now I need to convince Erik to let me go to the ball. I suppose I should have thought that through a little better… but I didn't really have a lot of time to consider everything. The day came at me fast and hard. Okay, first things first. I'll convince Erik to let me attend the masked ball. Then I'll meet Raoul and explain to him that I cannot see him. **

**This can work. I know it. It has to.**

**Christine**


	22. Chapter 22

**Dear Journal,**

**I feel terrible. I truly do. Like scum. Erik has been happier today than I imagine he has ever been in his life. It is all because of me… therefore, it's all false happiness. I am a horrible human being. **

**He was so understanding yesterday. He spent much of the evening reassuring me that he did not blame me for the incident with Raoul and that he still loved me more than ever. It made me feel a thousand times worse about deceiving him. **

Erik left the little house feeling twenty years younger and a lifetime happier. His angel was safety tucked away at him… _his _home… and would be waiting to greet him when he returned. It was a strange and wonderful feeling, knowing someone was waiting for him at home. It gave him a sense of purpose.

Right now, though, he was on a mission. He was going to the de Chagny estate to check on the arrogant pup that seemed to have intentions toward his Christine. He wasn't, however, going to kill him unless it was absolutely necessary. He decided he would rather not repeat the mistake he had made with Buquet. That… did not go over well with Christine. The last thing he wanted to do was destroy his blissfully happy relationship with her while still in its infancy. While he was encouraged by the fact that she did not seem to harbor any romantic interest in the boy, there was still a good chance that Christine would not forgive him for killing her childhood friend and he did not want to take that risk.

So, no, he was not going to kill the boy… not yet anyway. But he did need to make sure the viscomte understood that it was in everyone's best interest if he left Christine alone.

**We still spend most of the day with music, singing for each other or together. But now, even when we are not absorbed in our music, he will try to catch my eye, like a dog trying to get attention from his master. I am unworthy of such devotion. **

**At the same time, I am almost repulsed by it. He performs magic tricks, tries to tell jokes… he devotes himself to trying to make me smile. And yet, when I catch him, in the corner of my eye, stealing glances at me, looking at me adoringly with those eyes that are dark, empty sockets in the day and glowing candles in the night, I cannot help but remember the horror that lies just under his mask. **

Before he had ventured to far into the catacombs, he was brought out of his thoughtful state by the ringing of a bell. Someone was trespassing.

He made his way to the lake, thinking that this would be the most obvious entrance, and noticed a man--a blurry form in the darkness lit by a small lantern--rowing across the water in Erik's little rowboat. Erik grinned darkly. There was a trick he had been wanting to try ever since meeting a group of pirates in the South China Sea. _At last… a victim for the siren. I have been waiting for this…_

He snatched up a long reed that lay waiting for an opportunity such as this and walked silently into the water. When the water covered him to the top of his head, he placed the reed in his mouth and used it to breathe while he continued through the murky water, towards the little boat near the far shore.

**He does still wear a mask, of that I am eternally grateful. When I removed his mask the last time and even went so far as to burn it, I mentally kicked myself, realizing my mistake and believing that I would have to endure the rest of my time here with that face _uncovered_. However, it apparently makes _him_ more comfortable to wear a mask around me. I hope he never finds out how thankful I am of that.**

The man known by many as simply, The Persian, rowed the little boat towards Erik's lair. He had been watching the events of the Opera house unfold for weeks now and knew that something needed to be done. He knew without a doubt that Erik was to blame. The chandelier, Buquet's murder, the Daae girl's disappearance--they all bore the phantom's signature.

The Persian decided that he must be the one to straighten out this mess. For one thing, he did not have an ounce of faith in the Parisian police. However, more importantly, he felt an obligation to check-up on Erik. Years ago he saved Erik's life. In return, Erik promised not to commit any more murders. However, he knew his friend had a habit of _forgetting_ those things that he found inconvenient. Over the years, the Persian had spent many sleepless nights wondering how many more deaths were on his head because of his decision to rescue the masked genius.

Before now, Erik had only committed minor mischief around the Opera house. He caused just enough trouble to keep the superstitious managers under his thumb. Occasionally a curious dancer or drunken stage-hand would go missing, but there was no way the Persian could pin that on Erik for certain. However, this obsession with the chorus girl, Christine Daae, seemed to draw some of Erik's more sinister _creativity_ out of the woodwork.

As he began to paddle through the water, his comfortable silence was disturbed by a breathy singing that seemed to echo all around him. At first, he could not distinguish where the sound originated. It sounded as though it came from the air itself. After listening a bit longer, he sensed that it was not coming from the air, but from the water. He could now recognize the soft sound as a voice and he wondered what type of trick Erik had rigged up here. However, desire to uncover the source was not what caused him to lean towards the water. Rather, the voice that he heard was so compelling and so soft that he felt pulled to listen to it closer. He leaned out of the boat, so close to the water that he nearly overturned the vessel.

Just then, two skeletal arms shot out and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him under the water's surface. Immediately, he realized his error and prayed it was not too late.

"Erik! It's the daroga!" he cried out in his last gulp of air before being tugged under the waves.

The bony fingers loosened their vice-like grip on the man and the two floated to the surface. Erik silently guided the Persian's coughing and sputtering form to the water's edge and gently laid him on the shore beside the boat. Then he stood, towering over the Persian, dripping with water, eyes shining like twin flames against the cavern's dark backdrop.

"That was very imprudent of you, daroga. You should know better than to enter Erik's house uninvited. That could be very hazardous to your health, you know." he said, matter-of-factly.

"No kidding. What _was_ that?"

At this, Erik chuckled gleefully like a delighted child with a new toy. He held up the long reed that he had used to breathe and sing through. "Look, look, daroga. It is the silliest trick you ever saw. I learned it from Tonkin pirates years ago and have just now found a reason to test it out. Brilliant, eh?"

The Persian coughed a little more. "Brilliant, indeed. That trick almost got me killed, Erik!"

"Bah! You should know better than to trespass down here. Stop being so dramatic."

"Erik, I am here about Mlle. Daae. I know you are keeping her here."

"So? What of it? I have every right to visit with her in my own house." Then, leaning in as if telling a great secret, he whispered, "She loves me, daroga! She loves me for myself!"

"That is not true. You carried her off and are keeping her locked up!"

Another man on another day would have been killed instantly for such a statement. However, Erik was still so deliriously happy and love-struck that he was determined not to let some inconsequential member of the human race ruin his good mood.

"Listen," he sighed, sitting on the edge of the boat, "What will it take for you to leave me alone?"

"I want you to let Christine Daae go free. It is your _duty_ to let her go."

"Duty? Bah! It is my _wish_ that she should go free. I will let her go and she will come back to me… because she loves me! Oh daroga, to be loved for myself… you cannot imagine the happiness it brings to me. This will all end in a wedding, you know. A beautiful… wonderful wedding… meant for royalty! I have already begun to write the Wedding Mass…"

**When we are not together, he composes. Those are the only times he seems content to be apart from me. The music he composes… that is the most curious transformation of all. What I hear echoing down the hall is unlike the dark, burning madness of Don Juan Triumphant. It's still just as passionate but it's lighter… happier. I can sense the joy and love in his music and I know that it is I created it in him. When I hear his music I lock myself in my room and cry.**

"Erik, you do not know what you are saying…" the Persian tried to interrupt, but Erik continued on as if he had said nothing at all.

"…Oh it will be a great Mass, indeed. Wait till you hear the Kyrie!" then, pounding a beat on the wooden planks of the boat with his heels, he began to sing "_Kyrie!… Kyrie!… Kyrie Eleison! _Oh daroga, wait till you hear it!"

"Stop this madness, Erik! Look here, I shall only believe you if you can prove to me that Christine Daae is here of her own free will."

**He agreed to let me go to the ball without any protest at all. I had worried all night about how to phrase it so that he did not take offense. I didn't want him to think I was trying to get away… that would have ruined everything. But, it turned out to be a non-issue. He thought it was a splendid idea. Actually he said he was going to suggest it himself if I had not brought it up first.**

"And that is all it will take for you to leave me alone?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. In that case, you should know that there is a masked ball tomorrow night. Christine shall be in attendance and you shall see for yourself that she will return to me willingly… because she loves me!" he practically sang out the last part.

"And now, daroga," he said, climbing fully into the boat, "I must go run an errand. I warn you not to trespass into my house again. As you know, it is very dangerous down here and I am not always home where I can rescue you. Well… I'm off, then…" then he pushed off the shore and rowed back from where he came from.

**And so, tomorrow night I will go to the masked ball. I will find Raoul there and speak to him face to face and, though it breaks my heart, say goodbye to him once and for all. I hope that is how it will work out, anyway. I have enough to worry about right now without stressing about Raoul's safety. **

Erik expertly scaled the side of the de Chagny mansion. He did not know exactly where the boy's room would be located, but he was fortunate enough to hear voices in heated discussion that gave him an idea of where to go. He peered in the window and saw the Comte and his brother arguing.

"Raoul, you _need _to let this go. The girl obviously does not want you. You are driving yourself crazy with this."

"You do not understand, brother. Something is not right here. Why won't she speak to me? I know that she will be at the masked ball tomorrow night. I will see her there and _make _her talk to me."

"You will do no such thing. You are not a little boy anymore. This is not the time for silly games and crushes. It is time to end this obsession, brother. That ship is leaving for the North Pole in three weeks and I expect you to be on it."

"I cannot let this go until I hear it from her own voice that she does not love me!" he insisted.

"This is not up for discussion!" the older man shouted before storming from the room, slamming the door behind him.

For a while longer, Erik watched the boy, waiting for him to sleep. He looked haggard enough that Erik wondered if he slept at all. But, sure enough, after a few minutes of pacing and one too many drinks, he collapsed onto his bed and turned out the lamp.

Under cover of darkness, the masked man slipped in through the window, making just enough sound to make the weary viscomte open his blood-shot eyes to the pitch-black room.

He raised himself on his elbows to see two eyes, like blazing coals appear at the foot of his bed.

Panicked, he fumbled around for some matches and lit the lamp. But it was too late.

The eyes were gone.

He rose from the bed, searching every corner of his room. Then, realizing how silly he must look peeking under his bed for monsters like a frightened child, he crawled back into bed and blew out the light again.

The eyes reappeared, now at the window.

"Is it you?" he shouted in the dark. "Is it you--ghost or madman who has taken my Christine?"

In blind fury, he pulled his revolver and shot at the eyes glaring from the balcony.

Some servants heard the gunshot and ran to Raoul's room, finding him waving a gun and screaming like a lunatic. As they held him down, Philippe came into the room.

"THAT IS _ENOUGH_, BROTHER!" he roared, effectively bringing Raoul to his senses.

"I saw him!" the boy cried. "He was there, and I shot him. Go look out the window!"

But there was no one there.

**Erik is gone from the house now. I was hoping to stay awake until he returned, but I fear my need for sleep will win out on this one. I do wonder what errand he must run so late at night. It is unnerving to me that the man knows everything there is to know about me, and yet, is so elusive about his own life. However, I will not think of that now. The time for learning more about him is passed. I fear my guilt will not let me continue if I grow attached to him. **

**And now, to sleep.**

**Christine**


	23. Chapter 23

_Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. This chapter does have a few direct quotes from the novel by Leroux._

Author's Note: This was a fun chapter to write. I hope you enjoy it. Please review!**

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**

**Journal,**

**If this sounds strange, that is because it is: I think I might be married. Yes, I said 'I think', for I do not know for sure. **

"Christine? Are you ready? We wouldn't want to be late."

Erik could not repress the soft gasp that escaped when he saw Christine. She was wearing a beautiful ivory gown--Erik recognized it as one of the first that he had chosen for her during one of the giddy highs that came only after her voice lessons. Occasionally--even before it had occurred to him to kidnap the girl--he would give in to such moments of whimsy, purchasing clothing and trinkets for the room in his house that his subconscious had classified as 'hers'.

Now, she stood before him, looking a vision in an outfit that _he_ had provided for her. At that moment, he thought it was not possible for him to feel any happier. _Oh, my dear Christine!_

Christine grew nervous by his silence, afraid she had unknowingly done or forgotten to do something important. She cleared her throat discreetly, successfully drawing Erik from his daydream.

"I-is… is it okay? Do I… do I look alright?" she stammered

"At this moment, my dear," he whispered breathlessly, extending a gloved hand to her, "words cannot do justice to your loveliness. You are truly exquisite"

She exhaled in relief and gratefully took his hand. From a closet he retrieved her black domino, draping the hooded robe lightly across her bare shoulders and placing the mask in his coat pocket for later. They walked in companionable silence until they reached the entrance behind Christine's dressing-room mirror. As it seemed clear that this is where Erik intended to part ways, Christine decided to speak up.

"Are you not coming, Erik?" she asked, thinking that a masquerade in his own opera house would be reasonably within his narrow comfort level.

He chuckled lightly at her concern as he lovingly tied the black domino mask around her face. "I might stop by at some point, my dear, but I have a few matters to attend to first."

Then his tone changed. He was more serious... nervous almost. "I… I did… have something… to talk to you about…"

"Oh?" she asked cautiously.

"I want you to know… I… I know about the boy… de Chagny. I know that he intends to see you tonight."

It was dark enough that Christine could see his glowing eyes, but she worried at the unreadable expression they betrayed. _Oh no! Raoul! What does he know? _How_ does he know? Is he angry? No, he would not be letting me go if he was angry… Has he done something to Raoul? _Her mind raced but she did not allow that to show in her face or in her voice.

"He does." she stated softly, feeling odd at the realization that she was confessing to Raoul's intention to meet with her… it was like she was confessing just enough of the truth to keep him believing her deception.

Apparently, it worked.

He sighed, continuing, in halted breaths, words that he seemed to have trouble forming. "He loves you, Christine…"

Christine made to speak but he gestured with his palms for her to wait until he was finished. What he was trying to say was difficult for him and he would not be interrupted.

"…How could anyone not? He… he is going abroad soon and… you shall not see him again. I want you to know that… that I'm not angry if you wish to see him tonight… to say goodbye."

That was _not_ what Christine had expected. Perhaps the man had some capacity for compassion after all. She was not quite sure what to say or whether an answer was even required.

**He gave me his ring.**

Luckily, the awkward silence was brief. He took one of her hands in his and looked at it intently, caressing the pale skin with his gloved thumbs. Then he slipped a plain gold ring on her fourth finger.

"I give you back your liberty, Christine, on the condition that this ring is always on your finger. As long as you keep it, you will be protected against all danger and Erik will remain your friend…" he looked deep into her eyes and she smiled. But he continued dangerously, "But woe to you if you ever part with it, for Erik will have his revenge!"

Christine's eyes grew wide and she snatched her hand away from his. She was not sure whether to be afraid or angry.

Then, his tone softened again and he grew timid like a child.

"I _trust _you, Christine. I will part from you now… but… but you will come back to me tonight, yes?" he pleaded.

Christine was at a loss. It was not a request… not really. For about three seconds, when she saw that he was not coming to the ball, she toyed with the idea of making her escape tonight, but she dashed the thought almost as quickly as it came. She knew he would come find her if she did not return, he had told her so earlier that day.

Actually, most of today had been filled with subtle threats regarding tonight's event. She would never be able to keep up with his moods. One minute he was dominant and threatening… the next, gentle and fearful.

However, one thing was perfectly clear to Christine. He wanted her to come back, he _expected _her to come back… he had made that evident in his threats. But, in the soft pleading she found in his eyes, she knew it went deeper than that. He wanted her to _want_ to return. Letting her go right now was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. And, yet, out of love he forced himself to trust her. He was begging for some assurance that he would not _have_ to come find her.

The thought made her heart ache for him. Everything thus far in her scheme had been calculated and planned. Now, however, she did something completely on impulse.

**And I gave him mine.**

Releasing the long chain around her neck, she removed her father's wedding band from its place beside her mother's crucifix.

Erik stood frozen in shock, watching in rapture as she gently removed one of his gloves and placed the gold band on his icy finger.

"This is a _promise_, Erik…" she said earnestly, looking into his eyes and still holding his hands, "consider this a promise that I _will come back to you_."

With that, she disappeared through the mirror, leaving them both alone to ponder the gravity of what had just happened between them.

**Why did I do that? I wonder why I do any of the things I do. I guess I just wanted to show him what it is like to give a gift without accompanying it with a threat. **

**Feeling suddenly exhausted, I took a second to steady myself and hurried off to the ball, hoping to find Raoul and get this all over an done with. I was not in a rush to get back to Erik by any means; it's just that I was not looking forward to seeing Raoul in the aftermath of what had just occurred and I was eager to get it over with so I could go be sick by myself. **

Vicomte Raoul de Chagny paced restlessly and fiddled with his costume. He had been up all last night, after his encounter with that mysterious phantom with cat's eyes. The household staff must have thought him mad and, indeed, he was beginning to wonder if that was not the correct assumption.

He thought about what his brother had said to him. Perhaps it _was_ time to end this obsession.

All night his protective nature had warred with his pride.

Was she really such an innocent girl? Was she really a victim, and to what extent?

Whose prisoner is she? Had that man indeed carried her off? And, by what means?

Or, perhaps, has she been playing him? He was new to love, he knew it and so did she. Was the opera singer merely trying to make a fool of the nobleman? At one point, she had spoken to him about life being a game. She confessed to him that she would manipulate people on purpose. Is that what she was doing here? Was she playing a game with his heart? To think! He wanted to marry her… to give his name to a singer!

He cursed her and pitied her alternately in rapid succession.

However, at some point during this turmoil, he had put on a white domino and showed up at the ball.

By the time he arrived near the end of the event, the party had become far more wild than he was accustomed to. A masked ball at an opera house is considerably more… bohemian… than the masquerades given by members of his own social class. Already he found himself dodging the mad whirl of dancers, brushing off the bold familiarity of those who had partied a little to hard, and ignoring the masses of masked, drunken, would-be philosophers who would try to engage him in a war of wits.

On top of that, he felt like a complete buffoon white, puffy domino with a mask trimmed with long lace. _On the plus side_, he mused, _nobody would _ever_ recognize me like this!_

Five minutes before midnight, he contemplated leaving one last time. He wasn't sure he could handle it if Christine did not show up or, worse, if she did show up only to mock him. His jealousy and self-doubts came back full force and he was on the verge of walking out and putting that blasted woman behind him once and for all.

On the other hand, he was already here, already dressed like an imbecile, already braced for rejection. Why not just take a few more steps to the top of the staircase? What else did he have to lose?

Apparently, his body was not listening to his inner conflict because, by the time he had made his decision, he was already upstairs, leaning against a doorpost, waiting for his love to find him.

**However, it would not be so easy. I waited most of the night for Raoul. I was about to give up, thinking he was not coming, when I saw him at the top of the grand staircase. **

Suddenly, a woman in a black domino passed by him, squeezing his fingers to get his attention. He turned to speak to her, but she put her finger to her lips to silence him and motioned for him to follow her. At the sight of his beautiful Christine, all resentment and suspicion in his heart melted. He no longer had any doubt of her innocence and good intentions. _She came! She loves me! She wants to see me!_

**At some point during the evening, Erik made an appearance. I will give him this: the man knows how to make an entrance! **

As the progressed up the stairs, Raoul was distracted by a crowd gathering around an individual, dressed in scarlet, with the words 'Don't touch me! I am the Red Death stalking abroad!' written in gold letters across his immense red-velvet cloak.

**I had the intention of keeping the two apart for… well… indefinitely, if possible. However, that has proved more difficult than it would seem.**

Christine paled as she recognized the Red Death slowly following them up the stairs. Raoul saw her expression and felt his jealousy return tenfold.

"That's him, isn't it?" he hissed

"Be quiet. Follow me!" she demanded, practically dragging him further up the stairs and shoving him inside one of the Opera's private boxes.

"I'll kill him! I shall take of his mask and see this _angel_ that you love so well!" he swore passionately, trying to push past Christine and open up the door. With surprising strength, she shoved him away and blocked the exit with her small frame.

"In the name of our love, Raoul, do not pass!"

She put her ear to the door and listened for him. Only once she was convinced that he had passed by the closed door did she turn around and face Raoul, who had shed his white domino and stood panting and confused. _Did she just say she loved me? _

_No, she was just trying to give her _lover_ time to escape! I hate her! Foolish woman!_

"Do not lie to me, woman! You're heart is not capable of love! I can't believe that I let you lead me on… that I let you convince me that you could care for me… that I thought you honest and sincere while you make love to the Red Death behind my back! I despise you… you faithless, heartless woman!"

The rest of his attack was incoherent, he had burst into tears and was nothing more than a sobbing heap on the floor. Christine felt her heart constrict as she let him hurl insults upon her character. _Forget me Raoul, please! It is the only way I can protect you. I'll endure you're hatred… I'll endure anything if it keeps you safe… _

He looked up to see that she had removed her mask. He was shocked to see the haggard look on her pretty face. She was pale and had dark rings under her eyes. She was not crying now, but she had the look of someone going through hell inside. _Oh, my beauty, what has happened to you? Christine…_

He held his arms out, beckoning her to come to him. She shook her head sadly and replaced her mask.

"Goodbye, Raoul. I am so sorry. I will not see you again."

She turned from him and left, never once looking back.

**It takes a tremendous amount of energy to say goodbye to someone you love. I have had the misfortune of doing it several times. I wonder if that was how Erik was feeling today when he was so jittery and irritable.**

Determined not to give up, Raoul followed her in secret.

He watched in despair as she sank dejectedly into a chair and throw the black mask carelessly aside. She sighed and buried her head in her hands. _What has become of you, my happy little Lotte? _

She sat like this for a bit and then took her little journal from a drawer and began to write.

**Erik! The ring! Oh, for a brief moment I had forgotten…**

"Poor Erik" she sighed and Raoul gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. _I am jealous! I am jealous! I am jealous! _

**I realize now that I took this game too far when I did that. I wanted him to trust me, I knew I would be playing with his heart--but this was too much. I know now that I have made a grave error. What came over me? Why would it occur to me to do something like that? **

**What can I do to make this right? Can I still be saved from this nightmare? **

**I will continue these thoughts later. He has returned.**

**Christine**


	24. Chapter 24

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera._

Author's note: Well, I've reached a point in my story that I would refer to as 'the boring chapters'. There are these events that need to happen (because they happened in the book) before I can get to the parts that are slightly more original. I'll try my best to make them interesting, but I'm new at this whole 'creative writing' thing. Anyway, I hope you'll stick with me for a bit. It'll get better very soon. Oh yea, also you should know that the events in this chapter jump around a bit. Just try to work with it. Thank you tremendously for reading. I also appreciate reviews... I would like to get better, after all. **

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****My Journal,**

**I haven't written in weeks. I haven't needed to. Life has be wonderful. I am happier than I have been in years. **

**Why? You ask. Because of Raoul. My Raoul. My wonderful, brave, handsome, compassionate Raoul! I am in love, if you haven't noticed.**

"Raoul!" Christine chirped happily, walking over to her friend and hugging him warmly. Despite everything that had happened; despite the vigor in which she tried to get rid of him for his own safety; despite the ring that still weighed heavily on her finger, she was happy to see him.

"Christine, thank you for finally seeing me." Raoul said, nervously wringing his hat in his hands. There was no hint of sarcasm or bitterness in his voice. On the contrary, the boy had been a wreck since he last saw Christine disappear with the Red Death at the masked ball. He tried to call on her, only to be repeatedly told she was not receiving visitors. Still, true to his nature, he persevered--returning each day in hopes that she might agree to see him.

Now, he knew, the gods had blessed him with a chance. It was up to him not to screw it up.

"Listen," she said gently, leading him by the hand to a nearby sofa, "we should talk."

He nodded and let her pull him along.

"You must understand… Raoul… I-I care for you… I truly do… but--"

"Christine… why is there a _ring_ on your finger?" he interrupted when he saw the gold band on the hand that was intertwined with his.

She heard the warning in his tone and her face flushed. Later, she'd admit to herself that she was more embarrassed than anything, but at the time, she lashed out angrily.

"_That_ is none of your business, Raoul, and I'll thank you not to take that tone with me!"

He matched her fervor easily, "Of course it is my business, Christine! Have I been pursuing a married woman? How would your _husband_ feel about us?"

Christine was conflicted. She assessed her options. _Now is the time I could finally get rid of him. Tell him I'm engaged, he'll respect that. Ah… but can I? I've sent him away too many times… this isn't fair. Why should I have to let him go again? Perhaps I should tell the truth… _

"I am not married, Raoul. Not engaged even…"

"Don't start that with me, Christine!" he sneered, "I'm done with your _lies_. You say you belong to no man… but that ring, Christine… that ring is a promise that has been accepted!"

It would have been impossible to tell who's face was redder, hers or Raoul's. Anyway, Christine felt her temper shouting inside her, begging to be let loose.

"Don't talk about things you know nothing about, Raoul." she said coldly.

"Is it Erik's?"

She was a little shocked that he knew his name. "How do you know of Erik?"

"Ha! It's true then!" he shouted in mock triumph. "I followed you that night after the ball. I heard you say 'poor Erik' before he came for you."

Christine sank onto the sofa, her face in her hands.

Raoul felt bad, knowing that he had gone to far and upset her, but not really willing to back down. _I have to know if there's a chance for us! Why won't she just tell me if there is someone else? Why is she letting me make a fool of myself? _

After a long silence, Raoul finally spoke. "I would have married you, you know. I'm not like other men… I wouldn't have just made you… you wouldn't have to… I just…you wouldn't be my mistress, you'd be my wife, social rules be damned!" he blurted out.

"Married?" Christine said, stunned. "No… no no no… we could never be married! Don't you see? Erik would kill you!"

"So there is someone else? Christine... I need you to be honest with me. Am I wasting my time? I love you, I will not deny it… but am I making a fool of myself? You _need_ to stop playing with my heart. Please… I beg of you… are you promised to anyone?"

"I… I… um… well… no. No, I am not but… I cannot marry. Erik forbids me to marry anyone."

The viscomte let out a frustrated sigh. He was having about as much luck talking with her as he had talking to Madame Valerius. _Agh, Christine… tell me what's going on! _Talk_ to me!_

"But… wait!" she cried in sudden revelation. "He said I could not marry… but he said nothing about being engaged. Raoul… we could still be engaged, couldn't we?"

Raoul smiled at her excitement. She sounded like a child at Christmas. It briefly reminded him of the carefree, happy, little girl she had been. It reminded him of a time when her head was caught up in the clouds that she could care less what happened on earth. It reminded him of the girl she once was… before her father died.

He loved her excitement. He adored the idea of being the reason behind the smile on that pretty face. So, he jumped on board with her little game.

Kneeling in front of her, he took her hands in his and said dramatically, "Would the lady do me the honor of becoming my fiancée?"

She giggled and nodded. He picked her up and spun her in circles. Then the two laughed and played together… the embodiment of young love.

**We have spent all week together playing at being engaged. It has been so perfect, I wish it could last forever!**

**How did this come about? Well, I don't know how it all happened, but I am playing Marguerite again! **

"Sir, repairs to the theatre are complete. You are cleared to begin productions again."

"Thank you," the manager said, handing a coin to the messenger boy.

"There is a problem though," replied the director, "Carlotta will not be performing with us."

"What?" he cried, panicked, "How are we to continue without a star?"

Just then a note fell to the ground from the ceiling. The men both looked up but could not see the source. It appeared to have materialized out of nowhere.

**There has been about two and a half weeks of rehearsals and performances are to begin in a few more days.**

_Dear Messieurs,_

_It seems you are aware of the unfortunate relapse of La Carlotta's illness. Never fear, it is for the best. The absence of that glass shattering shrieking of hers can only serve to improve the performances. I have taken the liberty of preparing Mademoiselle Christine Daae for the role of Marguerite. She will be present when rehearsals begin in three day's time. One would be wise to listen to my advice. More _accidents_ would prove to be quite a nuisance._

_Your obedient servant,_

_O.G. _

**I am excited, but not because of the role. I am excited because it means freedom for me! **

"Christine, you were perfect!" Erik sighed as he rowed Christine back to the lair. He had just retrieved her from her dressing room after the masked ball and was overjoyed.

The occasion had been brilliant, she had been beautiful, and he had gotten a chance to walk around unmasked and ensure the continuing illness of La Carlotta (who was so busy fluffing her hair and flirting with serving boys that she hadn't noticed the Red Death slip some ingenious concoction into her drink).

Still, what was more thrilling was the fact that Christine had returned to him, just as he had promised. _She is a good girl,_ he told himself,_ Of course she keeps her promises! She promised she'd come back, didn't she?_ But he still had trouble believing. A lifetime of betrayal and broken promises will do that to a person. So he was immeasurably happy when she kept her promise to him.

Christine blushed and nodded appropriately. _He is not upset! _she thought happily. She was worried he had heard her with Raoul. _He is in such a good mood, actually! I should say something… um…_

"And you, sir, have quite a flare for the dramatic!" she said, gesturing to the Red Death costume he was still wearing. _If that wasn't already painfully obvious!_

He laughed a little. It was, she was surprised to realize, the first time his laugh could be considered a pleasant sound. Usually his laughter was bitter, creepy, and… well, evil. His laughter usually made her cringe. But now it was different… it was a delightfully warm sound that she might wish to hear again had they met under different circumstances.

**I mean it… Erik has let me go! The masked ball was a test, I know that now. Apparently I passed.**

Their next voice lesson was different than the others. It was relaxed--likely because she already knew the music to perfection. As she sang to his accompaniment, she felt as if they were no longer teacher and student. Rather, it almost seemed as if they were equals… just two people playing music together. Even under the strange circumstances, both Christine and Erik thoroughly enjoyed this non-lesson.

Afterwards, Erik sat on the sofa and tented his fingers in thought.

"My dear, I wish to speak to you about something."

"Yes, Erik? What is it?"

"Rehearsals for _Faust_ are scheduled to pick up again soon."

"Oh?" she said, feigning indifferent curiosity

"Yes, well… it's time. Anyway, you will be playing Marguerite."

She just nodded. At one point she would have questioned him. But, now, the 'why' and 'how' didn't matter nearly as much to her. Christine was a smart girl. She could make the connections. If she had rehearsals, she couldn't be stuck down here in the cellar.

"You have proven your trustworthiness, and it is time for you to return for a little while."

_A little while? What? Does that mean he expects me to come back after a few days. Yes, _that_ is extremely likely. The likelihood me giving up the very opportunity I've been working at for weeks is about the same as the likelihood of me being trampled to death by ducks! Boy, Erik, do you have another thing coming! _

**So now I am free to walk around as I please. I am living back at home with Mamma Valerius and attending rehearsals. I still wear his ring… it is the rather unfortunate reminder that I am not out of the woods just yet. But I definitely think our little game has taken a turn in my favor. **

**Ah, but how can I still see Raoul? That is simple. Erik allows it! **

"Before you leave, Christine, I want to talk to you about the viscomte."

Christine restrained a gasp. _Oh no! He _did_ hear us at the ball! What is he going to do?_

"Erik I swear I never--"

"I trust you, Christine…" he interrupted, the pleading look in his eyes showing that he meant it. "I _do_ trust you… these few weeks have been the happiest in my life. I feel as if I can do anything with you by my side. I believe you when you say that you do not return M. de Chagny's affections. I _trust you_… I must keep saying it, for it is a concept that does not come easily to me. But, I will prove it… I will not deny you the right to see the viscomte…"

"What are you saying, Erik?" she said skeptically. _Did Hell just freeze over? _

_Oh, dear Christine… don't make me speak of this! I just don't want to lose you!_ "He loves you and he is going abroad soon… I just… I just wanted you to know that I trust you. That is all I'll say on the subject." _I love you, Christine… but you can only despise me when I control you so… my dear angel… please don't break my heart…_

**I know it's a little cynical of me... but it almost seems to good to be true. I'm not going to dwell on that now, though. I've had too much stress in my life recently. For the moment, I'll just take it for what it is. It is a dream come true. Granted, it's a strange dream--like a nightmare with a happy ending--but I'll count my blessings for now. **

**Life is good; may it continue to be so.**

**Christine**


	25. Chapter 25

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera._

Author's Note: Another one of those necessary chapters before something interesting can happen. Despite the first and last sentence of this chapter, this is not the end. I actually expect that this story is going to be longer than dental school by the time its over. Christine just doesn't know that yet. Hmm, what else was I going to say... oh, I told someone that I would update in a day and that was, like, four days ago. So, Jamea, I'm sorry that I'm a dirty, rotten, liar. Here's a new chapter. Please review, it makes me happy.

**

* * *

Dear Journal,**

**I expect this to be my last entry. You see, I am leaving Paris tomorrow with Raoul. I met with him this evening and we discussed it. **

"Christine? Christine! Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

On the evening of the second performance of _Faust_, Christine and Raoul sat comfortably in her dressing-room, talking easily about trivial things. Christine, however, appeared more distracted than usual.

"Oh… um… I'm sorry? What was that?"

"You're distracted tonight, my love, is something troubling you?"

She sighed and looked down at her lap. "Raoul, I need your help."

The last few weeks of playing 'engagement' had been so happy for her and she was not quite ready to give it up. But, now, she realized it could not last forever. When _Faust_ was over, what would happen next? Would Erik expect her to return again? After several days of consideration, she decided it would be alright to enlist Raoul's help in her angel-troubles. It was a little selfish, she'd admit, but she couldn't help it. She was in love.

"Sure, Christine, what is it?"

"Um… not here. Follow me," she said, grabbing his hand and leading him toward the stairs.

**I must have thoroughly confused the poor man, hauling him up to the rooftops like that, but I couldn't risk being heard. **

After ascending at least three floors, Raoul, flushed and panting from the exertion, tugged at her hand. She stopped and looked at him curiously.

"Christine, what--"

"Shh, shh… not now, Raoul. Be quiet. We'll talk where no one can hear!"

"But where are we going?"

**If I have learned nothing else in these past months, it is that Erik hears _everything_ in his Opera. **

"Up. Now, shhhh." she scolded before flitting up another flight of stairs. She floated, light as a feather, up the stairs and through buttressed and rafters. Jumping easily from beam to beam and dragging poor Raoul, gasping and puffing behind her.

**At the same time, I promised Erik that I would not see Raoul outside the Opera. **

It is certainly a pity that Raoul was having such trouble catching his breath. Had he been concentrating more on his surroundings, surely he would have noticed the shadow that followed silently behind him, mimicking his every move.

Christine, for her part, was not looking behind. She was concentrating on the narrow pathways in front of her. Perhaps she assumed Raoul would protect her. Perhaps she just wasn't thinking.

But, alas, the lovers did indeed have a follower.

**So, I figured the best option would be to maneuver ourselves away from all the mirrors and trap-doors but still stay on the Opera house property. Hence--the roof. **

When they reached the rooftop, the couple found a place to sit and rest under the great bronze statue of Apollo.

"Raoul," she started after a few moments of silence, "I need to talk to you."

He bit back the number of sarcastic comments that ran through his brain and finally answered, "Ahem… yes, my dear, that sounds like a good idea. Why don't you begin, hmm?"

"It's about Erik."

_Ah, yes, Erik. My arch nemesis. How could I have forgotten?_ Raoul's handsome face was distorted with a sour frown and his eyebrows knitted together in thought.

"Raoul? Are you listening?" she asked after he didn't respond after a while.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm sorry, darling. I'll be honest with you, though… you've been infuriatingly vague about this 'Erik' character from the moment I confronted you about it…. So you'll have to forgive me if I am slightly put off by the idea of a rival that I've never had the opportunity to challenge face-to-face… On top of that, I am not so inclined to think that you fear him so, as you would have be believe, due simply to the fact that you rush to his defense and even _go to him willingly_." As calm as he was trying to be, Raoul was practically fuming by the end of his little tirade.

Christine was trying to hold back tears. All the words that she had planned to say escaped her at this moment leaving only the overwhelming crawl into Raoul's arms and disappear forever. Any thoughts beyond that were lost to her.

**I am ashamed to say that I had a little bit of a breakdown. I've pushed aside my thoughts in an effort to play Erik's games for so long that this sort of thing was bound to happen. One cannot be an actress indefinitely, after all. **

Suddenly, she cried, "Raoul, my love, please! Let's run away together! Promise me you'll take me away from this place!"

The vicomte's earlier anger at the situation dissolved when he heard his beloved speak those words. He drew her into his embrace and held her tightly. _Christine, my darling, beautiful girl, I will never let you go. _

"Of course I will take you away!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet. "I'll fetch a carriage, we can leave right now!"

"No, no…" she said while pulling him back down, "We can leave tomorrow. I must sing once more."

**I have to say, though, that Raoul handled it very well. Perhaps one day, when we are far away and married, we will be able to laugh about my hysterics on the roof of the Opera. **

He nodded in mock-understanding. _Why do I put up with these dramatics? If it was any other girl… ah, but there's the catch… it is not any other girl, is it? No, it is Christine. My Christine._

"But," she said, taking slow, deliberate breaths, "when the time comes, if I refuse to go with you, you must take me away by force."

He looked at her incredulously. "Why in the world would you say that? Are you planning on changing your mind?"

"I--I… I just don't know." Christine just looked down at her hands. _This might be harder than I thought…_

"It's because of _him_, isn't it?"

She nodded quietly. Then, she threw herself into his chest, nestling into him and shivering. "I'm afraid that, if I go back to him… to where he lives… underground. I am afraid I will never return." she whispered.

Raoul tried his best not to get frustrated, a feat that was aided immensely by the fact that this beautiful creature was cuddled in _his_ arms and not his mysterious rival's.

"Well, then… just don't go back." he said simply, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice. It all seemed so painfully obvious to him.

She looked up at him with a mix of horror, confusion, and amusement--as if his head had suddenly been transformed into… say… a parsnip.

**That day will be a long time from now though. I need to think one step at a time.**

In near-hysterics, she shook her head and moaned. "You don't understand, do you? It is not that simple, Raoul. You see, tomorrow is the last performance and he will expect me to return to him. When I do not, terrible things may happen… and he may come and get me anyway. Oh… but I can't do it, Raoul… I can't do it. He'll come and get me and drag me down to the cellars with him! But that is not the worst of it! No… no, it will be much worse than that! You see, he will get on his knees before me and he'll tell me that he loves me and… oh, and then he'll cry, Raoul. He'll cry out of those empty black eyes-sockets and that death's head… because, you see… because I will have broken his heart. I can't bear it, Raoul! I mustn't go back!" She rocked back and forth, shaking her head like a madwoman.

"Goodness, woman! Then, _why_, pray tell, will you not leave with me tonight?"

**First step: finish tomorrow's performance. If I were as heartless as I wish I was, I would have left with Raoul tonight. But I can't help but feel that I owe something to Erik. After all, he gave me my voice and I'm fairly sure he got me this role. **

"Because it would be too cruel, Raoul. I must sing this once more… but then you must come and get me from my dressing-room and take me away from here."

"You see!" he almost shouted, pulling back from her, "_This_ is what I am talking about. You claim to be afraid of him, but you wish to spare his feelings! It doesn't make any sense. _You're_ not making any sense!"

He would have continued ranting, but she stopped him when she perked up suddenly, having heard a faint sound from their otherwise quiet hiding place.

"Shhhh…. Raoul, did you hear that? Someone is up here!" she whispered urgently.

"NO!" he bellowed, shaking her by the shoulders. "No! No! No! You will not distract me, Christine! You will stop all this childish nonsense and tell me what is going on!"

**What's more, though, I still feel guilty about how I have led Erik on these past few months. I really believe that everything I did was out of necessity, but I can't help but feel bad about my deception. **

In his irritation, however, the boy did not notice the shadow, perched on Apollo's lyre, clenching his fists and fingering his lasso at the sight of him shaking Christine so harshly. _How dare you touch her, insolent boy! She is _mine_! I will kill you for being so rough with her! But, no, now is not the time, is it? No, Erik, she will only despise you if you kill him now. Ah, but she despises you already, does she not? Even now she plans to betray you. Oh, my Christine, how could you do this to me?_

**I mean, think about it, I am not so self-centered that I cannot see the damage I've done. I took the heart of an already broken man and am about to crush it. **

"You are right, Raoul. I have not been completely honest with you. But… I will be now… if you'll allow it."

"Please do." he begged, looking into her eyes.

"Do you remember what I told you at Perros? About the voice that said he was an angel?"

He nodded stiffly, wondering where she was going with this. Christine continued.

"Well, the 'Angel of Music' that came to me in my dressing-room and Erik are one and the same."

At first, Raoul made to speak. He was frustrated and not sure whether to believe her or not. Christine, however, motioned for him to be silent and continued her explanation.

She told him everything from the point that she left off in Perros. She described the kidnapping, or what she could remember of it. She told him what happened during those weeks she was missing.

**I just don't see how I have any other options. The least I can do is finish the performance tomorrow as a proper goodbye. **

**Why do I still feel so bad?**

**He brought this on himself. You can't just go around kidnapping people to make them love you. Actually, I think it's safe to say that is possibly the worst way to go about winning someone's affections.**

"I hate him, Christine! If I get the chance I will kill him! Tell me that you hate him too…"

She shook her head sadly. "No, Raoul, I do not hate Erik…"

He scoffed at this. "Of course you don't! You love him, don't you? I mean, it's the kind of excitement girls go for, right? A genius who lives in a castle underground?" he accused.

"Stop it, Raoul!" she shouted, "Stop doubting my love for you! I am trying to tell you the truth. If you truly love me, you will set aside your childish insecurities and _help me_!"

He was silent, a little taken aback by her outburst. After Christine was certain he was not going to interrupt again, she continued.

When she told him about the day she snatched off his mask, he gasped as she described his face. He held her closer and both turned around when they thought they heard another sound on the rooftop--the kind of half moan, half sob that one hears from only the truly wretched.

"Did you hear that, Christine? I think someone is in pain."

_I have no doubt of it,_ she thought to herself,_ if not yet anyway then soon._ She had a faint intuition that they were not alone on that roof, that perhaps _he_ had followed them. She had no way of being certain though for, after months of knowing Erik, she had begun to hear sounds and sighs everywhere. _Still_, she mused,_ even if he is here, I am already in way too far to stop now. I am going to be in a lot of trouble for what I've said here… but, Raoul is already really frustrated with all this. If I stop now, Raoul will leave me out of frustration and I'll be forced to face Erik's temper all alone. _

**Enough of those thoughts, though. I'll have plenty of time to reconcile with my guilt once I am safely far away with Raoul. **

In the end, she decided it would be best to press forward rather than backtrack.

"No, I heard nothing. I'm sure it's only the wind."

Steadying herself with deep, measured breaths, she continued her story, ending with an explanation of the events of the masked ball.

"And, to think," he murmured, "that is when I doubted your love for me…"

"Don't you see, Raoul? I did it to _protect _you."

He smiled down at her. _She does love me!_ And brushed a kiss lightly across her lips, delighting in the blush that followed.

**If I wasn't already under enough pressure, I lost the ring. **

She sighed and looked down at her hands, thinking of the conversation she had with Erik that night when he let her go and gave her his ring. _His ring!_ She looked closer at her hands, suddenly noticing the absence of the gold ring on her finger.

**How could I be so stupid? I lost his ring. I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find it. I bet you wonder why I can just sit here and write that so calmly. Well, it is because I had ample time to panic and search and cry and, finally resign myself to it before sitting down to my journal. **

**Here is my plan, though: If I run away with Raoul tomorrow, Erik won't know that I'm not wearing the ring because I'll be gone. That makes sense, right?**

**Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now. Once Erik finds out what I've done, he'll kill us both and it won't matter whether or not I have a stupid gold ring on my finger. I can only trust that Raoul will come through and take us somewhere far away where Erik will never find us. **

**Think of all the possibilities! I wonder if he'd take me back to Sweden? **

**I suppose I do feel a little bad leaving Mamma Valerius behind. But, I'm afraid there's nothing to be done about that at the moment. Maybe, when Raoul and I are safely tucked away somewhere, he will send for her. I'd like that. **

**Alright, enough of this for tonight. I have to go to sleep. I have a big day tomorrow!**

**Goodbye, dear journal,**

**Christine **


	26. Chapter 26

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. _

Author's note: At last, it's time for something interesting. This is a long chapter, but I didn't really know what else to do except break it up into several chapters--but that didn't work so well. So, here you go. I hope you can all follow along.**

* * *

**

**Hello again, Dear Journal.**

**It would appear that I spoke to soon. Actually, looking back at the high hopes I had only yesterday, I feel like a complete fool. That is the extent of the drastic change that has occurred in my life in less than twenty-four hours. **

Raoul woke up early that morning. _This is it!_ he thought, _this is the day I take Christine away with me. We will find a nice house somewhere quiet where we can marry and put all this Erik-nonsense behind us. _He smiled, thinking of all the wonderful memories he had shared with Christine and all the new ones they were going to create together.

Granted, he knew his brother would not be overly pleased, but that could not be helped. Last night he had relayed Christine's tale to him and was, judging by his reaction, pretty certain his brother was convinced that he had lost his mind. He determined to tell Philippe as little as possible until all the arrangements were final.

He dressed quickly while the servants readied his carriage. He did have breakfast with his brother, not wanting to raise suspicion before the time was right; but he knew that arranging all the details for the trip (tickets, lodging, etc.) would take most of the day so he left as quickly as he could get out of the house.

That evening, he and the Count both dressed for a night at the Opera. Raoul couldn't help his nerves, there were so many variables, so much could go wrong. But still, the excitement of seeing Christine sing one last time before taking her away with him kept his spirits high.

**There are a lot of things I should have done differently. **

The Opera was pact for the final performance. Rumor had spread of the outstanding new singer, Christine Daae, playing the lead and everyone who was anyone in Paris made an appearance.

From the privacy of their own box, Raoul and Philippe watched from above. Philippe was mildly bored, while he'd admit that his brother's little love interest had an extraordinary voice, he had already seen this show several times and was attending mainly for social and business purposes.

Raoul, on the other hand, was thoroughly engrossed in the production. His eyes lit up when Christine made her entrance and never left her as she glided gracefully about the stage.

Once or twice throughout the production, she'd look up into Raoul's box and make brief eye contact or smile brightly. Raoul would blush and beam back at her. He was absolutely giddy in his love for her.

**I should have listened to my instincts when they told me Raoul and I were being watched last night. I should have taken the lost ring as a bad omen, though I generally would not be considered superstitious by any stretch of the word. Still, I should have sensed that all was not right. **

Shortly before intermission, Philippe decided he had had enough opera music for one night. He leaned over to his brother and whispered, "Raoul, what do you say we duck out of here early? We can have a night on the town once more--for old time's sake--before you ship out next week…"

Raoul sighed. _I suppose it's now or never._ "Philippe," he said, looking at the ground like a guilty child, "I am not going abroad… at least, not the way you think I am."

The Count's eyebrow quirked. He knew what was coming but didn't want to believe it. "And why, may I ask, is that?" he said with a forced calm.

"Because, brother, I intend to carry Christine off tonight. I am in love, Philippe, and I am going to marry her."

Philippe's face turned bright red and he tried his best to keep his voice low, since other people were trying to watch the opera.

"Raoul, this childishness needs to stop now. I'm sure your secret engagement and forbidden love affair was a fun game while it lasted, but it needs to end." When he saw the shocked look on Raoul's face, he continued, "You didn't think I knew, did you?"

Raoul shook his head. He thought they had been so careful.

Philippe handed him a piece of paper that had been folded in his jacket pocket. "Look," he hissed, "I didn't want to show you this but it seems I have no choice. It's an article I found in the _Époque _about the Vicomte de Chagny and the opera singer Christine Daae. Don't you see? _Everybody_ knows about your little affair. Don't you see what you are doing to yourself? Think of your future! For goodness sake, think of the de Chagny name! Does our family mean so little to you?"

The boy was silent for a moment, considering everything his elder brother had said. Finally he looked into Philippe's eyes, with the despair of a lost child. "She needs me," he murmured, barely audible.

Philippe's face softened slightly. "Oh Raoul, what am I going to do with you? I suppose this is as much my fault as anyone else's. I've coddled you too much, little brother. Let us not be anymore argument between us. I don't wish to forbid you to leave… I just… I just think you need to look at this rationally. _Try_ to be sensible, Raoul. At least think about it, okay?"

**Perhaps I should have left last night when Raoul wanted to, although I'm not sure it would have made a difference. Granted, it would have been a lot less dramatic, but Erik would have found a way to bring me back. The man is a magician.**

Raoul did not respond and both brothers watched the performance in silence for a few minutes. Then, without warning, Raoul swore he could hear a voice near his left ear.

"_Coddled too much, indeed! HA! Listen to your brother, boy, and heed his advice!" _said the voice.

"Did you hear that, Philippe?" Raoul asked urgently

"Hear what?" his brother responded.

"That voice! It sounded like it was standing right beside me… you could not hear it at all?"

"_Stupid boy! Go back home to your toys and games. You are not man enough for Christine!"_

"There! I heard it again! It was by my right ear this time. Tell me you could hear it!"

"I heard nothing. Are you going to watch the show or should we leave?"

"It was _him_! I know it. It was Erik!"

"Enough of this, Raoul! You let that girl fill your head with ghost stories and now you are hearing voices! If you let this continue, you will go mad."

Raoul sighed. He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with his brother.

"You're probably right. I need to get some fresh air, I'll be right back."

As he got up to leave, Philippe grabbed hold of his arm. "Don't do anything foolish," he warned.

Raoul simply nodded and headed towards the stairs.

**I underestimated Erik when I thought Raoul and I could just escape out from under his nose. I am speaking figuratively, of course, as he does not have much of a nose at all in the literal sense. **

**Ah, look at me making jokes at a time like this. Where was I?**

Raoul paced the lobby for a few minutes, trying to clear his head and figure out what to do about Erik. The sound of Christine's lovely voice pulled him out of his thoughts. The doors to the auditorium were open, as it would soon be intermission, and he took the opportunity to watch her a little more.

He positioned himself beside the right-hand door, leaning casually against the wall as he watched his love, looking as glorious as ever, enchant the crowd with her voice. In her final aria, she spotted Raoul beside the entrance. She smiled and extended her hands toward him, trying to relay every ounce of her love for him in song.

Raoul was so moved, he almost felt a tear forming in his eye when he was startled by another chilling sound in his ears. It was the voice again. It echoed in his head and all around him, and yet he knew no one else would hear it.

_You see, boy? You've failed! She is mine._

**Oh yes. I was kidnapped again. **

Almost before he had a chance to register the comment, all the lights went out in the theatre. It only took a few moments for the stagehands to turn the gas lights back on, but it was distraction enough. By the time the lights came one, Christine Daae was gone.

**He took me _during_ the performance! If I were to take a very detached, indifferent view of the whole operation, I'd have to admit the genius in which he carried out his plan. **

"Did you think you could get away, Christine?" he growled. She saw his yellow eyes glowing in the darkness seconds before she felt his bony fingers grip her arm hard.

"Stop it, Erik! You're hurting me!" she plead, trying to tug out of his grasp. He held fast and began to pull her with him as he walked quickly through the darkness of the catacombs.

"Am I, Christine? Well, I suppose you would know, wouldn't you? You know all about hurting people!" he shouted, glaring at her.

Christine looked into his glowing eyes. The look she saw in them shocked her. It was not sadness… nor was it anger… it wasn't even hurt. She had expected those emotions and was prepared to deal with them. But no, the look in his eyes was the look of complete madness. She swallowed hard, more frightened now than she had ever been in her life. _Great, Christine, you've really done it this time!_

**But I am not indifferent. He is a horrid man. So there.**

"Now, now, Christine. Don't look so surprised. You remember this place, don't you?" He spoke to her in a mock-pleasant voice, as if talking to a child.

After a few minutes of useless struggling, Christine resigned herself to follow him the rest of the way to the lake house.

"Erik, what are you doing? Why have you brought me back here?"

"Why, I thought that would be obvious to you, my dear. This is your home now."

"Please, Erik, let me go. What do you think kidnapping me is going to accomplish? Do you think you can make me love you?"

He paused briefly, his shoulders jerking in quiet sobs. When he regained his composure, he sneered at her. "Love? Love? What do you know of love, stupid girl!"

Then he continued, the madness and rage more evident in his voice with each word. "Hmm… what shall Erik hope to accomplish by taking you away with him? I know… perhaps it is this: You are _mine_, Christine. You will always be mine. But, I realized last night, on the rooftop--oh yes, I heard you planning to betray me with that handsome idiot--that, perhaps, you needed a reminder. I will _never let you go_, Christine. It's best you get used to the idea."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"My, we are inquisitive today, aren't we? You ask so many questions! No matter," he said cheerfully, "Your Erik knows how to be patient. Especially with you, my dear. He has been most patient with you. Because he loves you, Christine. Did you know that?"

Without waiting for a response he continued, "Well then, ingenious child, I shall answer all your questions in time. In fact, I shall answer your questions always. There is much we can learn from each other. We will have so much time together now that you will be my _wife_."

"Wife?" she whispered, shocked. Looking back, she really shouldn't have been surprised, but it was alarming to hear the words coming from his mouth.

"Why yes, dear." he said lightly, "We are going to be married. Won't it be grand, Christine? You will make the most lovely bride."

"Just because you say it in a happy voice doesn't make it a good thing!" she replied acrimoniously.

He just laughed--a sound that made her shudder. "Now, Christine, that attitude will just not do! It's quite unbecoming. Don't you see, Christine? I can give you everything. You can have the fairy-tale wedding that all girls imagine. Well, I can't give you the handsome prince, but I'm afraid, dear girl, that that cannot be helped. But… but, you'll be pleased to know that the Wedding Mass is complete!"

"You wrote a Wedding Mass?" she asked incredulously. _I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that, come to think of it._

"Of course!" he exclaimed, as if the question was completely absurd. "I had to do something while you were off plotting against me with your darling boy."

**After he dragged my back to his home, I ran to my bedroom and locked the door--not that locks mean much with Erik, but it made me feel a bit better at any rate. **

"I hate you! I hate you!" she screamed as she slammed her bedroom door in his face.

"Oh, my darling Christine. I know that is not true. You wouldn't hate your Erik. He loves you, after all. He would even forgive you for betraying him… don't you see, Christine? If you loved me, I could forgive anything. I would deny you nothing… if only you would love me!"

"Go away!"

He sighed patiently. "I know you are eager to freshen up, Christine. It's been a long day and I'm afraid it will be much longer yet. I do not doubt that this will be an adjustment for you, but I'm sure it will all work out in time. I'll leave you now so you can think about your choice."

"Choice? What choice?" she asked, opening the door a crack so she could see him.

"Why, of course you have a choice, my dear girl! You always have a choice. I am not so heartless a monster… you can choose to marry me or not."

She looked at him incredulously. "Then I choose not." she said quickly

Again he laughed that insane laugh of his. "Oh my darling, you are adorable! I am afraid you should give it a little more thought than that. Marriage is a big decision, you know, and there could be terrible consequences for making the wrong choice!"

"What kind of consequences?"

Before he could answer a bell rang loudly throughout the lair. "Ah! It would appear we have a visitor! Oh, but I have not invited anyone… no, no, no… this was to be a _private_ engagement celebration! I shall have to go ask them to leave. I'll be back soon, my darling. Do think over your situation carefully."

**He said something about giving me some time alone to sort things out. **

The second he saw the empty stage where Christine stood seconds before, Raoul was off in a flash, sprinting in the direction of her dressing-room. _He has her! I will find him and kill him! _

He threw open the door of the dressing-room and rushed over to the mirror against the wall. _I know this must lead to somewhere, _he thought as he tried to pull the mirror back. However, when he pried the mirror off the wall he saw nothing more than a blank, solid wall. _No! NO! This is unacceptable! I _know_ she went through here before. There must be a trick to it…_

He explored every part of the mirror and the wall, running his fingers over the surface to find a button or lever of some sort. After a few seconds of searching with no results, he grew frustrated, kicking and stomping and shouting at everything and nothing.

"That will only make things worse." a calm voice stated behind him.

Raoul whipped around to see a tall, dark-skinned man with jade green eyes. His clothing was unusual and he was clearly not from Paris.

"Erik's traps are very clever. The door you seek does not even open from this direction. The lever is on the other side"

"Who the hell are you? And what do you know of Erik?" Raoul demanded.

"I am the one who can help you. I am the one who knows as much as any mortal man can know about Erik. I am the Persian."

"How did you know to find me here? And how do you know that it is Erik who took her? Perhaps she ran away on her own or left with another man…" Raoul inquired. He had to know what, if anything, this Persian knew about his situation.

The taller man just laughed. "I was at the performance tonight. Believe me when I tell you that no one could pull off a feat like that other than Erik. I have no doubt of where your fiancée is being held tonight."

"Then by all means, man, take me to her!"

"Very well, but you must follow my orders exactly. The cellars are extremely dangerous… now more than ever because Erik is down there protecting them. You and I could easily be killed tonight… are you aware of that, M. de Chagny?"

"Believe me, sir, when I say that I would do anything--and I mean anything--to bring Christine back to me safely."

------------------------------------

Erik glided about the caverns, nothing more than a shadow, silently slipping in and out of tunnels and trap-doors. Before long he came across two figures, slowly making their way down stairs and around corners, avoiding the lake entirely and ever conscious of his many traps.

_Excellent work, daroga. _he thought to himself. _It didn't take you nearly as long as I thought it would. It appears you have not yet lost your touch. _

He chuckled cruelly and the figures paused briefly before pressing forward cautiously.

_That's right, daroga, you haven't forgotten. Keep your hand at the level of your eyes! You never know what kind of wicked things are about._

As he departed back to his house, he pulled a lever to the left, shifting a wall along the path of the two travelers. The change was so slight that it was likely neither man would notice. However, it was consequential enough that Erik could predict exactly where in his underground palace they would end up.

_Be careful, gentlemen. Mirrors can be frightening things when used correctly…_

------------------------------------

When the lights came back on in the auditorium and some of the panic died down, one of the managers came onto the stage and announced that Christine Daae has disappeared and nobody knew how. Philippe stood up in his box, his first thoughts going to his brother Raoul, who had left several minutes ago to 'get some fresh air'.

While he genuinely hoped that his little brother had not run off and done something foolish, in his heart he knew that would not be the case. _Damn that boy… he said they were running away tonight but I didn't think he would leave _during_ the performance! He probably didn't want to risk me trying to prevent him from going. Agh! I need to stop this!_

He ran out as quickly as he could, pushing his way through the crowds.

People were shuffling aimlessly about in the lobby and auditorium. Some were eager to leave, afraid of the Opera Ghost. Others were looking for gossip. The managers were desperately trying to push people back into the auditorium, assuring them that the show would go on, the understudy was well equipped so that refunds would not be necessary.

_The train!_ he thought frantically. He knew Raoul would have made arrangements ahead of time. Since they planned to escape tonight, there must be a train leaving soon that they planned to be on. Philippe ran directly to the de Chagny carriage, and alerted the driver.

"Driver! Take me to the train station. And hurry!"

**The next time I saw him (whether it was hours or minutes, I do not know) he was holding me while I lay on the floor with a bruised forehead. He shook me awake and cursed me for trying to kill myself. **

"Stupid, stupid girl!" he muttered as he lifted her limp body from the floor and placed her in a stiff, wooden chair, fastening her tightly with ropes to keep her upright.

She began to stir and looked, horrified, upon the man who was dabbing her bloody forehead with a damp cloth. She tried to turn away but he grabbed her chin and roughly forced her to look at him.

"Oh no you don't, Christine! Look at me! Thought you could escape me this way, did you? By killing yourself?"

**To set the record straight--though it is likely, dear journal, that only you and I will ever know the truth--I _did not_ attempt suicide. **

Christine's eyes widened in confusion as she tried to decipher what was happening.

"What? N--No…" she tried to shake her head but his grip on her face tightened and she winced against the pain.

He continued to rant, "No, no, no, Christine. You cannot escape me that easily!" He laughed maniacally. "Are you really so stupid that you would think that I would ever let you go? Don't you see, Christine… even in death you cannot escape me!"

"Death?"

"Yes, death! What else would you be trying to accomplish, hmm? Banging your head against the wall… perhaps you just want to mar that pretty complexion of yours… perhaps you just want to look a little more like me, hmm? Is that what you were doing? No, my dear, you are not allowed to die yet. We must wait until the time is right… until you have made your choice…" "

"Honestly, with all the traps and poisons down here, do you really think I'd kill myself by hitting my head on a wall?" she asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm from her voice. _Does he really think I am _that_ stupid? If he does, then why on earth would he want to marry me… does he want an imbecilic wife? What a boring existence would that be? _

However, her words were ignored completely as Erik continued to rant and shout out his anger. He dragged her--and the chair she was bound to--to the music room where he positioned her beside the far wall which, unbeknownst to her, was the adjoining wall to Erik's secret torture chamber.

"Never matter, never matter… since I cannot trust you to behave yourself, I shall have to keep you tied up like this. I will simply have to watch over you, my little dove, until I am sure you will not hurt yourself again."

**The truth of the matter is that I tripped. As I was pacing through my room, I was so blinded by tears and, well, plain old shortsightedness. It's so bloody dark down here, that didn't help at all either. Anyway, at some point I tripped on the corner of a rug and fell head first onto the corner of the bedpost. It knocked me out and I fell on the floor by the nearest wall. It also left me with a nasty cut across my forehead. I don't think it'll scar but, then again, such trivialities seem unreasonably vain at this point. **

For the next few hours he alternately shouted, threatened, pleaded and wept.

Sometimes he towered over her, demanding for her to choose him.

Other times, he buried his face in the hem of her dress, promising her the world if she could only love him.

And sometimes he would sit, curled on the floor or leaning against the divan, rocking back and forth for long stretches of time, tearing at his hair and moaning, "She doesn't love me… she doesn't love me…" again and again.

Through all of this, Christine stared straight ahead, refusing to let herself be moved. _Forget it, Erik, remember who you are dealing with… _I_ am the master manipulator. None of this is going to work. I am not going to marry you. I do not love you… none of your tactics will change that. _

After an undefined amount of time, he stood up--graceful as ever--and bowed formally.

"Perhaps you need more time to think. I will leave you for a few hours. Don't move!" he warned in a sing-song voice as he laughed at his own joke.

**Not that Erik would believe me. Then again, I suppose he really doesn't have any reason to believe anything I tell him. But, no, I am not going to apologize for anything. I'm paying for my crimes and then some. **

"Christine!" a voice sounded through the wall. Christine perked up her head and listened again. It was Raoul.

"Raoul!" she cried, and then cringed and hoped that Erik had not heard her.

"Christine, we need your help. We are trapped in this room. I can see nothing, it's completely dark. Come to the door and let us out!"

"I can't, Raoul! There is no door that I can see. Even if there was, I am all tied up… I can't move at all. Oh, Raoul! Please help me! He has gone mad… I should've listened to you… I…" she broke down, her body shaking helplessly as she had no more tears left to shed.

On the other side, Raoul began to pound the wall mercilessly. The Persian pulled him back roughly.

"He's tied her up… that madman tied her up! I'm going to kill him!"

"M. de Chagny," the man said evenly, "we may be here for a while. You must calm yourself and conserve your strength. You will need to be ready to face anything if you want to save Christine."

Then, against the wall, he said, "Mlle. Daae, I need you to listen to me carefully. Look around and tell me if you see a key. It might be in a little black bag," he added, remembering a similar situation back in Persia years ago.

She looked around as best she could, spotting something on top of his organ that matched the description.

"I see it!" she cried, "I'll try to get it, but you must be quiet now. I hear him coming!"

**Seriously, though. What good would suicide do me? It wouldn't save Raoul or anyone else for that matter. I may have lost this game, but I intend to accept my defeat with as much class as I can muster. **

"I have returned, my dear. Have you come any closer to making your decision?"

_What decision? You keep telling me I have a choice but you don't accept my answer and then you threaten me and leave me to 'think it over again'. Seriously… what kind of choice is that? Wait… Christine, no… don't think of that now. You have a mission remember? _

"Erik, please untie me," she pleaded.

He quirked his head to the side. "You know I cannot do that, Christine. Why must you make this difficult?"

She dropped her head pitifully.

"No… don't… do not cry, Christine! You know how it pains me to see you cry!"

"These ropes are hurting me, Erik. Please… they hurt so much…"

"I can't untie you. You will try to hurt yourself again."

_That wasn't my intention in the first place, you awful man. If you'd listened to me, you'd know that! _"No, Erik, I won't. I promise. Please…"

He nodded slowly and knelt before her, deftly releasing her bonds. He took her small wrists in his hands and, sure enough, they were marked with angry, red rope burns and bruises.

"Oh!" he gasped, "I _have _hurt you! I am so sorry, Christine… this… this is a crime deserving of death!"

Christine shuddered. She remembered another time when he had said those words. It was very… unnerving.

Suddenly the intruder bell rang once again.

"Visitors, visitors!" he sang, "This is most unusual! Do I go about bothering people in their homes? People should know better than to show up uninvited."

He turned to Christine and said, "Fear not, my love, I shall return shortly. How pale you are! Don't worry, I will not be gone long. I will go tell him that we are in no need of company today and then your little Erik will return to you. My darling, Christine…"

With a gentle caress across her cheek, he turned and disappeared from the room, his cloak rippling behind him as he melted into the shadows.

She sighed, relieved and worried at the same time. This little diversion was most fortunate for her but most unfortunate for whoever had strayed too far underground. She thought a quick prayer. _Perhaps it was just a cat or something that set off the alarm…_

After waiting a few breathless seconds to be sure he had truly gone, Christine rose from her seat and snatched up the little black bag.

Retrieving the key from inside she put her ear by the wall and said, "I have it! Can you hear me in there? I have the key… what do I do now?"

Neither the men, nor Christine knew exactly what could be done next. "Try looking for a crack in the wall that could be a door or an opening," the Persian offered hopefully.

**Besides, I'd make an ugly corpse with my head all banged up like this.**

Philippe returned to the Opera from the train station. After talking to the various personnel, he determined that Raoul and Christine had not shown up that night. He waited until the train they were scheduled to travel on had come and gone, but there was no sign of them.

Frustrated and weary, Philippe realized that it might be time for him to accept the alternative. He swallowed hard, this was not something he wanted to think about.

For days… weeks even… his brother had been speaking of ghosts and angels and trap-doors in the Opera house. At first, he waved it off--Raoul always did have an active imagination. This singer-girl was obviously having quite an affect on the boy, but Philippe had assumed he would grow out of it and come to his senses.

However, the night Raoul shot off his gun at a 'ghost' in his bedroom, Philippe knew there was much more to this problem than he originally guessed. As far as he knew, madness did not run especially run in his family, but it could be so very hard to predict sometimes. He determined, at that point, to keep a closer watch on Raoul.

Now, after the ordeal tonight, he was inclined to believe his brother may have run off in search of the Opera Ghost.

As the driver took him back to the Opera, Philippe growled and clenched his fists. He was not afraid of ghosts or devils, but the idea of running around the cellars of the Opera all night, chasing after his mentally unstable little brother, was not what he had in mind when he got up that morning.

Following directions from various stagehands, Philippe made his way down underneath the building. He came upon a lake and remembered one of the stories Raoul relayed to him from Christine. _He must have gone this way_, he thought as he came upon a small boat. He cautiously stepped in and began rowing through the water, thinking angrily of all the things he was going to say and do to Raoul when he got his hands on him.

However, before he had ventured too far, he heard an exquisite sound echoing out from the water. I voice more sublime than any he had ever encountered filled his ears with singing. Entranced, he leaned over the edge of the boat, trying to get as close to the fading sound as possible, not wanting to miss even a single note.

Without warning, two monstrous, skeletal arms shot out of the water. There was a splash, a scuffle, and Comte Philippe de Chagny was no more.

"A pity," Erik said as he dragged the lifeless body to shore, "I think the two of us could have gotten along. Your brother should have listened to you. I'm afraid his fate is looking equally grim at the moment."

With one last look at the body, he shrugged and made his way back home where his love would be waiting for him. _I hope she will not be worried… but, then, I was not gone long. She's such a good girl, waiting for me as she does. I must be sure to thank her someday. Not now, though. Now I have a Requiem to sing._

**I don't know why I seem to be the linchpin in this whole mess, but I am. If I killed myself tonight, Raoul, Erik, that Persian gentleman, and thousands of Parisians would have died. It's an odd feeling really, holding the fate of so many others. I don't think I've ever mattered so much in my life. **

"I have returned, Christine. But I'm afraid it was a bit of bad news. You see, when I went out there to speak with the man… to tell him he was not welcome… well, you see, he was already dead. It was a tragic accident really. Why do you look at me that way, Christine? Oh! You must wonder why I am all wet. Such a good girl you are, worrying for me like that. I am wet, dear child, because it is raining. Yes, it is raining cats and dogs outside!"

"It's raining underground… in the cellars… _inside_ the Opera house?"

"No more interruptions, ingenious child, I must sing his Requiem."

"You are mad, Erik!"

He knelt at her feet once more, pleading. "Oh Christine, if I am mad it is because of you! If you could only love me… oh my darling girl… if you loved me I could do anything! I would be a gentle as a lamb! Don't you see that I don't want it to be this way? I don't want to live underground anymore… in a house with trap doors and a coffin. I want to live in a house with a real bed and go out like a regular man. I want a wife like everyone else. There is nothing I would not give you Christine. I am a magician, you know, and a ventriloquist. I would live only for you and adore you. I would live to entertain my wife during the week and take walks in the park on Sundays. It's all I want, Christine. You are so kind… so beautiful… if only you could love me. But no, love is too much to ask for a monster such as myself. But we could still be married… we could still enjoy each other's companionship. I know of many people who did not know each other before they were married but have adored each other ever since. I will not ask for your love if you cannot give it… just… just a kind word… one kind word, Christine… that is all I ask. You who are always so sweet and gentle to everyone… is there nothing in your heart but hatred for me? Do you have just one kind word for your Erik?"

He paused, waiting for a reply, but she only stared at him in shock and pity.

"No?" he asked quietly, "Well then, my love, do let me get back to that Requiem."

He sat down at his organ and began to play. After a few moments of continuous music, he paused.

Christine held her breath at the conspicuous silence. _He knows!_

"Christine…" he ground out dangerously, "What have you done with my bag?"

"What bag, Erik? What are you talking about?" she answered, backing away towards the wall that separated her from Raoul.

"You know very well what I am talking about. Give it back or you shall regret it."

She continued to back away from him, eyes wide with fright. "Stay away from me, Erik." she warned.

Suddenly he was before her, his arms wrapped around her as he forcefully, painfully wrenched the bag from her hands behind her back. She screamed in pain and Raoul, hearing her cry, roared with rage and despair.

"Christine!" he cried

Erik visibly tensed. "Is that the reason you were stealing my key? Is there someone in there?"

"No, Erik. There is no one."

"Really? Is that so? Then you will not mind if I go have a look. There is a window… up there… at the top of the stairs. Every _torture chamber_ must have a window, you see… so that one can check on the state of its occupants."

"There is no need to go up there Erik. No one is there. Look, I'll go up and look for you!" she offered.

"Oh, how _kind_ of you… sparing me all those steps at my age. Here… I will even turn the light on for you." he sneered, flipping on a hidden switch.

There was another cry… two men shouted in surprise at the blinding light that suddenly surrounded them. When their eyes adjusted, Raoul discovered what the Persian had already known. The torture chamber was simply a room covered top to bottom in mirrors. It appeared to be a forest… but in truth there was only one tree, with a noose attached, that was duplicated thousands of times by those treacherous mirrors. Within minutes the lights magnified the temperature of the room and the men began to suffer the effects of the intense heat.

Christine paled even more, if that was possible.

"Erik, what is in there?"

"It is simply a forest, child, don't trouble yourself with it _since there is no one in there_…"

"The why is it so hot against the wall?"

"Because," he said simply, "It is an African forest. Now, come sit with me, I have something I wish to discuss with you."

**How did this happen? This time last year I had no one. Now I have two men ready to kill or die for me! Goodness, when it rains, it pours! Couldn't there be any middle ground? It would certainly make my life easier. **

"Erik, turn out that light! Please!"

"Now, my beauty, don't think of that right now. Look here, I want to show you something."

He opened two black boxes on a shelf in the corner of the room.

"See these, Christine? Aren't they clever? Now, listen carefully, I would hate for something terrible to happen on accident. It is time for you to make your choice. If you will accept my proposal and be my wife, you will turn the scorpion. If you refuse, you will turn the grasshopper."

**The ultimatum Erik gave me was the true absurdity of the night. Marry me or I kill everyone in and around this building. Choose me or blow up thousands of people. Really, what kind of choice is that anyway? What kind of sick person is so selfish as to allow so many deaths just so she doesn't have to endure a miserable marriage? I've heard that misery loves company, but honestly! In the end, though, I think I surprised Erik by the choice I made. I wonder if that is an indication of the type of person he thinks I am. Not that I've given him cause to think otherwise. No apologies, though, I know I'm being stubborn but I am not going to accept full blame in this. He is the lunatic, after all. **

She nodded nervously and allowed him to continue.

"I am going to leave you now one last time. I will allow you some privacy to think. When I return, I will know what your choice is. If you have not made your decision by the time I return, I will turn the grasshopper for you."

**So here is the true irony of the evening: while my choice was clear in theory, it was dangerously difficult in practice.**

"Be very careful of your choice, Christine. If you choose incorrectly, we will all be dead and buried before you can change your mind."

**Why? Well, I'm glad you asked. I will explain it, though you will be tempted to laugh, dear journal, at the ludicrousness of it all. In two identical black boxes lay two nearly-identical bronze knobs. On one knob was carved an intricate imitation of a scorpion. On the other, an equally detailed representation of a grasshopper. Meanwhile, the chambers beneath us were completely packed with barrels of gunpowder. The choice was this: turn the scorpion and drown the gunpowder in water, or turn the grasshopper and ignite the powder and, consequently, blow us all to pieces. **

"Alright, I'll go now. Beware though… that grasshopper hops. Indeed," he laughed, "it hops jolly high!"

**The nearly-identical knobs is where the trouble lay. I know I've said it a hundred times, but my eyesight is terrible and it is unreasonably dark down here. I really could not, to save the life of me (literally), figure out which was the grasshopper and which was the scorpion. You see, I should never have smashed those blasted spectacles a while back. I really need to learn to think things through a little better. This is where my impulsiveness gets me!**

For the next sixty minutes, Christine paced and fretted. She more or less ignored the passionate pleas from the men in the torture chamber. Occasionally she'd comment in answer to a question, but she knew that they really couldn't do much to help her or anyone else at the moment. Everyone's fates were resting entirely in her hands. And she had no idea which knob to choose!

When Erik returned, his emotions were entirely unreadable.

"Mademoiselle has not chosen the grasshopper." he said with an eerie calm. "Mademoiselle has not chosen the scorpion. The time has come, Christine. Which do you choose, the Wedding Mass or the Requiem?"

"Erik, stop this! Of course I will marry you… please end this now! Let those men go! I choose you!"

"You see, my dear, there lies the problem. Erik cannot trust the words that comes from Christine's lips. Christine has told too many lies. No, Erik can only trust Christine's actions. But she has not turned either handle! Well, then I shall have to choose for her. Goodbye, my dear. I love you."

"STOP ERIK! Look! I have turned the scorpion!"

**Anyway, to make a long story short, just as my time ran out, I saw him slowly, dramatically reaching out to turn the grasshopper for me. Well, I'm glad it was the grasshopper he was reaching for because I quickly grabbed the other knob and turned it hard. Wouldn't that have been awful if he had tricked me again and I turned the wrong handle? Then again, I suppose I wouldn't care because I'd be dead before I could regret it.**

"Oh Christine… you do not know how happy you have made me!" he murmured. She could hear his breath coming in ragged gasps. The insanity in his voice was replaced with something else that she could not identify.

He extended his hand to her and she reached out and took it without hesitation. He groaned so slightly at her touch and stared at her in absolute wonder. _She is an angel! My angel! My wife…_

**So that left me with another problem. Erik had made no prior promises to save Raoul or that Persian man (I wonder who that is, anyway. I must remember to ask Erik at a later time) and the torture chamber was quickly filling up with water. **

As cold water started to seep in through the trap door in the floor of the torture chamber, the men collapsed on the floor and lapped it up greedily, ignoring the bitter taste it made as it mixed with the gunpowder in the chamber beneath them.

However, the momentary relief of the trapped men was replaced by a new kind of panic when they realized the flow of water was not stopping.

"Help us, Christine! We will drown in here!" Raoul cried out.

"Erik!" shouted the Persian, "I know you can hear us… please open the door! I saved your life… at least you can return the favor!"

"Daroga? Are you in there to? You should not have gone in there," Erik said matter-of-factly, "it is very dangerous."

Christine grasped Erik's sleeve tightly. "Please, Erik! I have chosen you… you have already won! I beg you… let them out! Don't blame Raoul for my mistakes!"

"Nonsense, my dear. You have a fiancée now and you have no need of a second. I will throw the key away. I am finished with torture chambers. I wish to live like any other man. Other men do not have torture chambers in their homes. I shall throw this key away."

"NO!" she cried.

**That is when I took my second biggest risk of the night. **

The pleas of the drowning men grew louder as the water rose, but Christine paid no attention at all. At that moment it was only her and Erik.

"Erik…" she said quietly. She approached him slowly, but purposely, until her hands touched his sleeves over his upper arms. She was not willing, yet, to touch him further but it seemed that the small gesture was enough for the affection-starved man.

"I am not demanding anything of you or giving you some sort of ultimatum. I have chosen you and I will always choose you from this moment on. You may not believe me… I haven't given you cause to believe me… but I am truly sorry for everything that has happened. But… I am here now, willing to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Where you have known pain, I will show you infinite tenderness. For every tear you have shed, I will replace with a thousand caresses," her thumbs rubbed lazy circles on his arms as if to prove her point, "I am _asking _you, as a favor to your _wife_, to save those men. But the choice is yours. Either way, I am here to be your real, living bride, forever and ever. Whatever you decide, I promise that I will dedicate my every breath to making you the happiest man alive."

For a moment he only stared at her. She expertly hid her nervousness as she thought silent prayers that he would believe her. _Please, let this work…_

Then he nodded. "I will do it as a favor to my wife. Go and rest, Christine. I will do what I can. I will need your help in a few hours… I will call you when the time comes."

**In the end, it turned out alright. I was afraid he wouldn't believe me, but he did. Was I bluffing to him when I made all those promises? I'm not sure yet. I spoke passionately to save Raoul. But, then again, it looks like I am going to be here a while. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt me to try and make the best of it. I'll have to ponder that a bit. **

When she returned, Raoul was still unconscious from the ordeal and the Persian had just barely woken. He began to ask questions of Christine but she did not answer him. Instead she curled up in a chair with a book. She could not read it--it was too dark--but it helped keep the appearance that she was not interested in the exchange between he and Erik.

She had come in to help Erik get the men situated in the little room. When he went to fetch her he warned her not to speak to them, reminding her that she belonged to him now. She had no wish to disobey him now. After giving so much to ensure their safety, Christine wasn't about to throw it away by stupidly disregarding Erik's not-too-subtle threats.

After helping the semi-conscious Persian to the surface, he returned to attend to the boy, who still lay unconscious on the sofa. Christine gave him a questioning look. "He will live," was his only response as he lifted the boy over his shoulder and carried him out of the room and out of Christine's life forever.

**Anyway, what matters is that it worked. Erik took Raoul upstairs and released him. **

When he was out of his fiancée's sight, he dropped the boy unceremoniously to the ground on his back and dragged him the rest of the way by his jacket collar. However, instead of taking him to the surface, as he had with the daroga, he took him in the opposite direction, speaking to the boy's unhearing ears the entire time.

"I suppose you want to know where you are going," he sighed. "As much as I love my wife, I am afraid I do not trust her enough yet. Trust is not something that comes easily to a man like me. That's all there is too it, I'm afraid. It's no outlook on you, really, although I hate you with a passion and would kill you in a second if it wouldn't upset Christine so. Though I'm not sure why it upsets her so… I've killed so many just like you without a second thought… for crimes far less than your own, in fact. But no… Christine would not like it. She is a good girl like that… never wants blood on anyone's hands. But still, I cannot release you. As I have said, I cannot trust her yet. And so, young man, I'm afraid you are going to have to be a hostage for a while."

Raoul groaned in his sleep but did not wake up.

"Oh, hush now. It's not as bad as all that. The Communards used these dungeons for years. I'm sure you'll be quite comfortable."

He thrust the boy into a cell and proceeded to lock the door.

"It's a shame, really, that a young man such as yourself had to choose an actress for your first love interest. You should have started with someone less complicated… like the whiny, air headed daughters of some of your socialite friends. You are not good enough for Christine. Ah, but you live and learn right? Well… hopefully for you… that still remains to be seen."

When he was securely locked up, Erik turned on his heel and left without a glance back.

**No matter what happens now, I will rest easy knowing Raoul is safe.**

Erik returned to his flat, half expecting that Christine would have run away or locked herself in her room again.

However, upon entering he saw her, looking so beautiful and innocent in her white dress, curled up in his chair with her book.

As timid as a little child he approached her. When she caught a glimpse of him emerging from the shadows, she looked up from her book and smiled sweetly at him. She carefully set down her book and stood.

As he came closer, she did not scream or back away. Instead she waited for him, still smiling, still radiant, her arms outstretched to receive him.

When he had come as close as he dared, he tentatively reached out and touched her waist. Then she closed the remaining distance between them and rested her hands against his chest. It was a cautious embrace--with the girl accepting his touch presently but in a position to push away if she felt threatened--but it made Erik's heart burst with a happiness that he never thought he'd know.

Encouraged by her response, he leaned forward--lifting his mask ever so slightly--and brushed against her forehead a kiss that was so light that she scarcely felt it.

She did not die. She did not scream. She did not faint or pull away or any of the horrible things he imagined.

The emotion of it all overwhelmed the poor man and he collapsed at her feet, clutching at her skirt with his hands wrapped tightly around her and his head resting on her waist. He sobbed and trembled like a child.

Overcome with pity and something else, Christine knelt beside him, holding him closer and allowing his head to rest against the top of her chest. For reasons Christine could not explain, she too began to cry.

**When he came back he kissed my forehead. I let him, figuring that I'll have to get used to it sooner or later. He cried, and then I cried--it was all ridiculously emotional, I'm ashamed to say. **

Christine rested her cheek on top of Erik's head while he buried his face in her neck. Before long, Erik began to choke with the tears falling in his mask. He took the material off and pulled back to look her in the face. _Maybe now she will run from me…_

She did not run, though. She pushed a thin piece of hair that had fallen across his brow and pressed a light kiss to his temple. "My Erik…" she whispered sadly.

"Yours, Christine, ever yours…" he murmured as he sank once more in tears upon her breast. _She is an angel. I do not deserve this wonderful creature. She does not love me. She loves the boy. I can give her that… I can do this… for her…_

**In retrospect, I think at some point during that time he may have wanted to tell me something. Whatever it was, I didn't catch it. I might ask him tomorrow, if I remember. I suppose, if it was important, he'll just tell me later. It probably doesn't matter; I won't dwell on it more. **

"Christine…" he said as his sobs died down. _I have to do this now before I lose the nerve…_ "I… I…" he could not speak but he lifted his hand which held the gold ring she had given him and the smaller band that he had given her and she had lost. _Take it Christine… go back to your boy… leave your Erik to die knowing you are happy somewhere…_

She did not understand and so she closed his hand back over the rings. "You better hold onto those… or put them into a safe place until the wedding."

The broken man did not have it in his power to explain or to argue with her. He merely wept more and clung to her tighter.

After a few more moments, she started to laugh.

He looked up at her, his twisted features contorted into what she supposed was a questioning expression.

"Look at us," she giggled, "crying like a couple of old women! How ridiculous we must look!"

He laughed a bit and gazed at her adoringly.

"I tell you what," she offered, "how about you go change. I'll make us some tea and we can talk a little. I think we both need to wind down a little before bed."

"That sounds nice."

**So then I made tea while he changed clothes (for some reason that I am afraid to ask about, he was wet from head to toe when he returned from his patrol of the cellars earlier that night). Afterwards we sat and talked for a bit before he sent me off to bed. **

**Speaking of which, I am physically and emotionally exhausted. I'm going to try and sleep, if sleep will come. Wish me luck…**

**Christine.**


	27. Chapter 27

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything remotely close to Phantom of the Opera._

Author's note: No, it's not over. You could say this is the beginning of Part 2. I hope these characters don't come off too bipolar in this chapter. Keep in mind they're both in uncharted waters and utterly confused about their feelings... so it's going to seem a little tumultuous at first. Thank you for reading.**

* * *

**

**Journal,**

**The day after tomorrow. That is when the wedding is. **

**Erik wanted to be married straight away. I suppose he thinks I'll change my mind. Not that I have that option, but I won't begin to presume how that man's mind works. I have a feeling that he would have preferred to carry me off to a chape1 last night directly after I came to him with my choice. I guess I should give him credit for his restraint. He is giving me this little bit of time to allow me to… come to terms with my situation. **

**I know what that allowance must have cost him. He is still so very insecure when it comes to me (and for good reason! I have no allegiance to this man apart from the promise I made to him. Which, I suppose, granted him my ultimate allegiance… but I'll choose not to think about that right now). **

**Anyway, it is those little acts of selflessness--albeit few and far between--that give me the confidence to continue. **

Christine was sitting again in the library, comfortably perched in the large, soft chair, lost in thought while pretending to read the same book she started last night.

_How did this happen to me? Is it my fault for leading him on… or his fault for starting this whole mess? _

_My life has changed so much in just a few months. If someone told me I'd be living underground, pledged to be married to the devil while my true fiancée narrowly escaped with his life I would have had them committed. _

_This is not at all how I imagined my life to end. _

_Wait… why did I think that? This is not at all how I imagined my life to end. Is my life over, then? I cannot die. I promised to live for Erik… the 'living bride' remember? I am no coward and it seems an awful waste to go through everything I've been through only to end it now. Then why can't I stop thinking it?_

_This is not at all how I imagined my life to end._

_Ah. I understand now. Sure, I'm still alive technically… but my life is as good as over now. It just seems so utterly pointless now. _

_No, it's not pointless. I live now because I had to save Raoul. I made that sacrifice… I couldn't let Raoul and all those others die. It was a lose/lose situation for me… but I still have to live with my choice. _

_At least Raoul is safe…_

_Poor Raoul… he must hate me. Why did I drag him into this? I should have been stronger… should have fought harder. Why didn't he listen to me? From the beginning I only tried to keep him safe. I tried to send him away from me. Why did he tempt me to confide in him? Why does he make me feel so very safe? _

_Why did I let him into my heart? I never thought it could happen… I didn't think I was meant for love. I'm too cynical, too bitter, too… broken. _

_I should have had more control! Why can I manipulate others and yet have no control over my own heart? Why--_

"Christine?"

She was pulled from her thoughts by Erik's silky voice calling her from the kitchen. When she didn't respond, he came to the library, leaning casually against the door frame.

"I made breakfast, Christine…"

He folded his arms across his chest in a gesture that might have been intimidating had its intent not been to hide the nervous trembling of his hands. The slight waver in his normally controlled voice indicated to Christine how insecure he really was.

She sighed. This could be a chance for her, she realized, to show him a little kindness and make his day. She couldn't bring herself to do it, though. She didn't feel a thread of tenderness towards the man and had no desire to act like she did. She was sick of acting… it was her acting that got her so deep into trouble in the first place. Maybe now it was time for honesty… and she honestly didn't feel like being nice.

"I'm not especially hungry." she answered quietly.

"I…" he cleared his throat, not quite knowing what to say. Christine had the ability to make Erik feel emotions he had not thought he was capable of and now, it seemed, he was feeling them all at once.

His knee-jerk reaction was one of anger. _Fine! Starve then, ungrateful woman!_ But he killed that before it left his mouth. Anger… rage… bitterness. That was all he had felt for so much of his life. He realized that, after so many years, anger was the emotion that he always projected, even if he was feeling something else. It's all he knew. _No, Erik, that will only make things worse. She has seen this side of you too much already. Think about your words…_

He tried to make sense of his feelings.

There was joy. A raw, powerful joy that resided in the back of his mind ever since last night. She was his, by her own admission, forever.

Still, there was that lingering insecurity brought on by his pessimistic nature. He knew he would feel infinitely better once her choice was sealed by a priest and his ring once again resided on her finger. Until then he would have to force himself not to dwell on his many doubts. He thought of his hostage, currently locked in a tiny cell in the Communard dungeons. It was a great comfort to him that he still had de Chagny to bargain with should any of the darker possibilities come about.

There was sadness as well. He never wanted to force Christine into marriage. He wished to woo her and propose to her and marry her and make love to her just like he would if he were any other man. He had hoped… he had _believed_ that she could love him for himself. But he had been wrong. When he discovered her deceit it broke his heart. When, in his madness, he forced her to stay with him it crushed the already broken pieces. His black heart was nothing but tatters when he tried to let her go…

But she didn't go. That is what gave him hope. Hope that she may care for him someday. Even if it was just a little. Or, if could feel no romantic intentions, perhaps friendship. He'd even accept pity from her. He was nothing more than a dog at her feet, willing to die for her. If need be, he was ever willing to take any scrap of kindness and delude himself into thinking it was something more. He could do that. He had power over his own mind just as he did over the minds of others.

Then there was nervousness. He felt helpless and timid as a child around her because he wanted so badly--more than anything else--for her to accept him. His heart told him he had the power to sway their precarious relationship to his side. His mind warned him not to screw it up.

There were so many emotions floating about his head that the poor man couldn't begin to make sense of them all.

"Very well," he sighed. He still wasn't sure how to respond. It irked him that he had spent so much time trying to prepare a meal that would please her. But, still, he knew they were both exhausted and he figured that this wasn't a battle he needed to fight.

**Judging by the clock (though I know not whether it is day or night), that gives me somewhere between 36 and 48 hours before I'm bound to him forever. It's hard to be sure exactly how much longer I have… even with a clock, the passage of time is exceedingly difficult to calculate down here. There is no passage of seasons, no natural light, no change whatsoever. Minutes and days run together seamlessly. It is as if we are outside of Time's jurisdiction, tucked away as we are underground. **

Then, getting an idea, he left the room and went to his workshop, where he had left a gift he had retrieved a few weeks ago but had yet to give her.

"These are for you, my dear." he said, handing her a new pair of reading glasses.

Observing her blush and widened eyes with satisfaction, he elaborated, "You other pair seemed to have fallen upon an unfortunate accident."

"H--How… how did you know?" she choked out.

She looked at him curiously, noting that he had relaxed some and his body language betrayed a hint of amusement.

"Hmmm. Let's see, my dear, where shall is start? With the broken glass I found hidden behind a lamp or perhaps," he said tapping the book she was holding, "with the fact that you have been staring at the same page for seven hours now."

Christine smiled sheepishly and her blushed even deeper. She was caught. After a moment of silence, she giggled adorably and hid her face in her hands, shaking her head back and forth at the awkwardness of the situation. Then she looked up, still dreadfully embarrassed and delightfully flushed, and took the new spectacles from Erik's open palm.

"Thank you." she murmured, opening her book back up and pretending she did not notice Erik's burning gaze on her.

Erik smiled behind his mask. He could not have asked for a better reaction. She was so endearing, his little angel. She smiled at him. It was slight, but it was genuine. _It's a start…_ he mused.

**Then again, I can't begin to fathom exactly why any of this matters to me. I'm already bound to him forever. I have been from the day he first spoke to me in my dressing-room. Possibly even before then, but I can't be sure. No, a ceremony is just a formality. I've been his since he first set his sights on me. **

**Why me? It's still something I don't understand. I asked him that question once when he first brought me to his home--no, it does me no good to sugar-coat things; I should use the right terms--when he _kidnapped _me. He said it was because he loved me. **

**But this was not always the case, was it? I am not ready to believe he just heard me one day and fell instantly in love with me. No, at some point he must have made a conscious decision to pursue me. How does one decide to become a stalker? Did he wake up one morning and think "You know, I could really use a good obsession" or was it a gradual thing? **

**He doesn't seem especially willing to answer that question. Either that or I can't seem to find the way to ask it and coax an answer from him. There are a lot of things I want to know about my fiancée. Sooner or later I'll find some non-threatening way to get the information I am looking for. **

"Erik," she announced after supper, "we don't know much about each other."

His head tilted slightly to the side. "On the contrary, my dear, I know a great deal about you."

_Not nearly as much as you think_, she thought, clearing her throat slightly to hide her discomfort. She decided to blow over that statement and continued with her idea.

"Yes well… I don't know anything about you. I think we should play a game."

"A game?" he said, looking thoroughly amused.

"Yes," she stated matter-of-factly. "I will ask you a question and then you can ask me one."

"My dear, there are some things I do not wish to talk about." he warned, the dark tones in his voice making Christine shudder.

She recovered quickly and responded, "I've considered that. So, here are the rules. Any question is fair game, but you can choose not to answer. Here's the catch, though: no lying, no leaving out key details, no deception of any kind. Either tell the whole truth or say 'Pass'."

It was still too light to see the look in the empty blackness of his eye sockets, but she sensed he was glaring at her.

"Of the two of us, I don't think _I'm_ the one who needs to be told not to lie." he muttered dangerously.

_Touché. _She thought, smarting from the bitterness in his words._ I guess I walked into that one. _

Christine frowned, but nodded. "Fair enough." she stated casually as her voice came off completely unfazed by his scathing remark, "Shall I start then?"

He sighed and shrugged indulgently. "Very well. You may proceed if it pleases you."

"How old are you?"

"Probably somewhere over forty."

"Probably?"

"Yes, probably. The anniversary of my birth was not something people would celebrate"

"I see. I'm sorry."

"It matters not. My question. Do you always resort to silly games like these?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"You said 'any question is fair game'…"

She knew what he was trying to do… what he was trying to get her to admit… but she refused to be baited. "Fine. For your information, my games are usually much more sophisticated. I just thought you'd appreciate some bluntness."

"Interesting." he said evenly, reading of all the possibilities in that statement. Perhaps his toying little fox was more resourceful than he gave her credit for. He wasn't sure whether he admired or despised that thought. He made a mental note to find out more. It suddenly occurred to him that, with all of her deception and good acting, he might not know as much about her as he thought. He'd never admit that out loud though.

"How did you come to live at the Opera?"

"Pass."

"What did you do before you came here?"

"Pass."

"What happened to Joseph Buquet?"

"Pass."

"You are being most uncooperative."

"_You_ are being most invasive. You ask questions you _know_ I cannot answer. Think, little one, what is the point of this little exercise? What is it you _really _want to know?"

"I--I just… I guess… why me, Erik? With all the beautiful, talented, young women here… why did you fall in love with _me_? I mean… how… what did I do? What made you decide to pursue me, of all people?"

Erik paused and thought over his response. What should he tell her? What _had_ attracted him to her?

He remembered the first time he saw her. She was moving her things into the Opera house along with all the other new students.

There was something about the kittenish way she carried herself… so alone, timid… so very vulnerable. He saw how she shyly endured Carlotta's abuse and tried to hide herself in the masses. He saw her trying to make her self as invisible as possible. Ironically, that is what made her more visible to him.

When he looked on her, he was reminded of himself as a child. Before he was old enough to run away from home, ignorant, superstitious, townspeople used to attack him on a regular basis. They would throw rocks at him or beat him with sticks. On more than one occasion he was tied to a fenced and brutally whipped and beaten even after he lost consciousness. At first, he had not even attempted to defend himself. He was just a little boy, so terrified of the world.

But he was not that little boy anymore. He adapted quickly, learning to manipulate light and shadows… learning to become invisible. One cannot attack what cannot be seen. Those who had hurt him had long since paid for their crimes and the experiences had simply disappeared into the mass of other disappointing memories in the back of his subconscious.

But seeing Christine… it dredged up all those memories and lit up ever protective fiber in his being.

He may look like a monster, but Erik was very much a man. His instinct to protect drove him to seek the girl out a second time.

His second investigation merely established in his mind what he had already hypothesized. This girl was not a survivor. Her shy countenance was one of a girl whose soul was being crushed by the weight of her world.

(The true irony was that neither Erik nor Christine would ever fully realize that all the things he noticed about her in the first few days--the way she tried not to stand out or attract attention… the way she could disappear even while surrounded by people--all the things that led him to believe she was not a survivor were really just her own, refined, deliberate survival tactics.)

But, then, there were whole new facets to her personality. He saw other endearing qualities that emerged whenever she was alone. She had a charming sense of humor, a quiet gentleness, and a tremendous potential for love--which was plainly obvious in her voice whenever she spoke of her father or Mamma Valerius.

And her voice! Listening to that voice obliterated any remaining doubt about getting involved with the girl. Her technique and pitch were flawless--she had obviously been well taught. But the voice itself was as timid and broken as the girl herself.

When had protectiveness become possessiveness? When had interest become obsession? When had fondness become love? When did he begin to need her as much as she needed him?

He did not know the answer to those questions. But he _did_ know what attracted him to her.

"Because you needed me, Christine, that's why."

"I… needed… you?" she said slowly, testing the words on her tongue.

**I'm still working on it though.**

Christine bristled. _Well! Of all the arrogant… idiotic… insufferable… _This was not the answer she was looking for. Her hands clenched at her sides and she tried to curb her temper. Did he actually mean that or was he just trying to irritate her?

"Yes. We needed each other. You were so… so beautiful… so defenseless. You needed me to protect you… to teach you and guide you. You needed what only I could give. Don't you see? Fate has linked us together. We were meant for each other."

She gritted her teeth. It would do no good to lash out at him right now.

"This was a bad idea," she ground out as she turned to leave.

"Not so fast, angel. It's my turn."

She turned and glared at him but he refused to meet her eyes.

"Was it all a lie? All this time…" he asked quietly trying to maintain his indifferent tone but inwardly terrified of her response.

"Most of it." she whispered, looking at the ground in shame.

Erik stood abruptly, turning over his chair in the process.

"You're right. This was a bad idea." he growled as he stormed from the room. A few moments later, Christine heard the slam of his door, followed by the heavy lock, followed by the familiar sound of destruction. She shuddered thinking of what the man was doing to his room. _He must go through a lot of furniture._

**I'll be honest. I don't know how this is going to work. I don't even know where to begin with this man. I'm so confused that I can't even seem to organize my feelings into coherent thoughts. **

**What am I supposed to do? **

**I need help. I need advice. I wonder if there is someone I can talk to get a fresh perspective. **

**I'm going to ponder this tonight, since I don't think I'll be sleeping. **

**Christine**


	28. Chapter 28

**

* * *

Dear Journal,**

**Just a few more hours and I will be a married woman. **

**Today has been hard. The shock of _that night_ has worn off and I'm left like a shadow. I wander around the flat like a ghost. **

**I try to stay positive, but it's a trial. **

**I repeat things like 'You can't always control your situation, but you can control your response' and other pathetic platitudes like a mantra. **

**I've tried to avoid Erik, it won't do either of us any good for him to see me this way. Undoubtedly he'd try to do something to drag me out of this depression I'm sinking into. Then he'll get the wrong response from me and end up angry and smashing things. **

**The last thing I need to do is make things worse between the two of us. Our relationship is… precarious… at best. We are going to be married which means I'll have to live with him for a long, long time. It is definitely in my best interest not to make him angry. **

**That is a difficult task. Erik spends a good deal of the day angry in one way or another. I wonder how many chairs and tables he's gone through in the time he's lived down here. That man needs to think of something more productive to do with all this energy. **

**Then again, maybe that's where Don Juan came from--and I do _not_ want to go down that path again. I wish he'd just burn that hateful thing and be done with it. **

**And then, even with all this anger, he still has a tremendous potential for tenderness. **

"Christine, please meet me in the kitchen"

Erik's musical voice pulled Christine out of her meditation. A few hours ago, she had settled down with a book. Shortly after, however, her eyes seemed to abandon their place on the page and fix their stare to some unspecified point on the wall. At some point the book had fallen from her limp hands and she had stayed like that, unmoving, lost in her own thoughts.

Erik had worried when he first found her this way, but decided not to distract her until he had cause. His angel had been through a lot in the last few days and, as much as he wanted to go to her and comfort her, she might just need some time to sort everything out.

That thought frustrated him to no end. She should be coming to him with her troubles. He should be the one to hold her when she was upset.

It did not escape him that he may be the cause of her upset. Still, if she was angry with him, she should show it. She should shout, cry, lash out… _anything_ to show that she still had a little bit of life left. But, no, she would not come to Erik with her problems. She just withdrew deeper into herself.

That troubled him more than her anger and tears combined.

He was losing her.

The prospect terrified him.

He ran desperate eyes up her pale form. Her little feet, tucked up under herself as she attempted to disappear into the fabric of the chair. Her hands, still open as if holding the book that had slipped from their grasp, unnoticed. Her graceful neck, once a radiant ivory, now almost a sickly shade of pale gray. Her beautiful blue eyes, they were stormy… darker… troubled. They were the only indicators of emotion… of _life_… left in her apathetic body. His gaze moved higher still until it fixed on her forehead, cut and bruised from her failed suicide attempt. In that nasty injury he found reason to call her out of her reverie.

Christine followed him into the kitchen where he sat her down at the counter and began spreading out an assortment of salves and potions.

Ever so gently, he cupped her chin with his hand and tilted her face up to his.

"You are lucky… I don't think it will leave a scar…" he mused quietly as the fingers of his other hand glided tenderly over the nasty gash, careful not to press the surrounding bruises.

Christine's eyes never left him as she watched him deftly clean the wound and change the bandages. When antiseptic touched the cut she hissed and pulled back. He gently drew her back against him, holding her close and making soothing sounds in her ear until the sting subsided. She looked at him with a curious expression as he lovingly applied the creams and oils that would help speed the healing.

Erik noticed her confusion and sighed fondly. "My Christine… you are so beautiful…"

Again she pulled away from him, looking at him warily. For a moment he thought she was about to speak but she kept her mouth shut. The two locked eyes, each trying to understand the other. Finally Christine stood, backing away from his touch, and silently left the room.

**Even now, he tries to find ways to make me smile. The very fact that he released Raoul when he didn't have to should stand for something. **

The cell was cold. It was dark.

How long had he been there? An hour? A day? From the dryness of his mouth and the ache in his muscles he assumed that he had been unconscious for hours.

What happened? How did he get here? He tried to ignore the pounding in his head and concentrate on his last clear memories.

_I was in a desert… a forest? No, that doesn't sound right… _

_It was so hot… and the water… MIRRORS! I remember! I was in a chamber of mirrors…_

_Me and… the… the Persian! Yes, I know the Persian. _

_What was I doing with him? He came and found me in Christine's dressing-room after… CHRISTINE!_

Suddenly all the memories came flooding back to him.

_Christine was kidnapped! We went to rescue her… the mirrors, the torture chamber, the gunpowder, the water…_

A door loudly creaked open. Raoul turned sharply to face the sound and groaned, his joints protesting the sudden movements.

"Ah, you're finally awake!" a voice exclaimed cheerfully.

"Where am I?"

"Far away, far away," the voice sang, "so no one will find you!"

Raoul squinted his eyes, trying to make out shapes or movement in the pitch blackness. The visitor carried no lantern and the only light in the chamber came from two candles burning a few feet away.

_Wait… not candles, _he thought as the lights moved about the room. _Eyes! Glowing eyes! Erik's eyes… ERIK!_

"Erik!" the young man growled. The two eyes faced him and flashed with insane amusement.

"Not so stupid after all, are we, boy?" he taunted, "Then again, if you were any smarter you would have heeded the warnings to stay away from Christine."

"Christine! What have you done to her? I swear if you've hurt her…"

"Whatever do you mean, boy?" he challenged with danger lacing his lilting voice, "Why would I want to hurt my _wife_? You should be careful what you say about her… it is by her request that you still live, boy."

"YOU MONSTER!" Raoul screamed, scrambling about madly in the darkness, determined to tear the masked man apart with his bare hands.

However, Erik would have none of that. With a flick of his wrist, a long, thin rope flew out from his shirtsleeve and tightened around the vicomte's neck. The boy fell silent and his eyes widened in horror. Erik pulled the noose slowly and firmly, allowing the younger man to fully feel and comprehend the situation: Raoul was alive because--and only because--Erik wished it.

"That's better, then. You know," Erik smirked, circling the boy like a tiger, "you should show a little more gratitude. Just think of how upset Christine would be if she knew this was how you thanked me for saving your life. Yes, you see… it was her idea after all. I would like nothing more than to snap your pathetic little neck but Christine… dear sweet Christine cannot bear for anyone to be hurt. She's such a good girl… wouldn't hurt a fly…"

Raoul gasped and tore at the rope at his neck. It unnerved him to see the joy in the monster's eyes… to hear the adoration in his voice as he talked about the poor woman he was holding captive. He shuddered, wondering what this madman had subjected her to already.

"Now," Erik continued, all-business, "your body has been through a bit of a shock. Humans were not meant to survive my torture chamber. You were very lucky… very lucky that my wife is such a caring individual. I am leaving you a pitcher of water. It would be wise for you to drink it all. No doubt your body is in need of fluids."

"How do I know you haven't poisoned it?"

Erik shrugged, flicking his wrist again to release the Punjab lasso from Raoul's neck. "I suppose I could be offended by that implication… but you are not worth it, foolish boy. So, I'll tell you this--I might have poisoned it, but I might not. I could have snapped your neck just now, but I did not. You can choose to trust me or you can dehydrate. In all honesty, it makes no difference to me."

With that teasing comment, the masked man left, leaving Raoul alone in the dark with dozens of unanswered questions.

**A man like that cannot be wholly evil. I am convinced of this at least. **

"You are not listening to me!" the Persian shouted. He had been sitting in the constable's office for hours, with the Opera managers sitting nearby, looking almost bored, while he tried to explain the situation. Both Christine Daae and Raoul de Chagny went missing during the blackout. Later that evening, the body of Count Philippe de Chagny was found near the lake under the Opera house. As soon as he had recovered from his near-death experience in Erik's torture chamber, the Persian had contacted the authorities and the managers.

True, he knew the chances that he would be believed we slim, but he felt it was his civil duty to come forward with the truth.

"I am listening to you, monsieur, and I assure you… there is no crime here." he man replied.

"Then _what,_ pray tell, do you think happened?" the Persian said, his voice betraying every hint of the exasperation he felt.

"Yes indeed, monsieur," said one of the managers, "what is your hypothesis?" In their opinion, this entire mess was extremely bad publicity and they were just as eager as anyone else to put the ordeal behind them.

"It's quite simple, really," the police chief answered, "Mademoiselle Daae and the Vicomte de Chagny had been planning to run off together, correct?" the three men nodded and he continued, "Expecting the count to come forth and put a stop to the relationship, the couple fled the Opera before the elder de Chagny had a chance to catch up with them. In his attempt to seek them out, he came upon the lake where he met his untimely death. This is not the first time an innocent explorer has drowned in that lake. No doubt the vicomte and his fiancée have left the country. They probably do not even know yet of the accident."

"But--" the dark man started before he was silenced by the constable's staying hand.

"Monsieur, I agree that this event was indeed an awful tragedy. However, it was completely accidental and I have no reason to pursue this matter further. Consider the case closed." he said with finality.

The Persian was furious but the other men seemed satisfied with that explanation and quietly filed out of the office. The Persian was left alone, fuming. He had a feeling the officer's pride and sheer ineptitude would get in the way of the investigation but he found his cavalier attitude ultimately frustrating.

However, when he realized there was nothing more he could do along these lines he left for his home, wondering if this was worth the risk of seeking out Erik once again.

**But does that make him husband material? I have thought about this a lot recently. The thought of us leading a normal life together, with a normal house and a normal family is laughable. Literally laughable. I have to hold back giggles whenever I think of Erik, running around in a garden, chasing after a bunch of ridiculously talented children who are ugly as sin while I sit dutifully on the porch with my sewing basket--the picture of domesticity. **

**Who am I to talk though? I'm not exactly the ideal of the perfect wife. How did I get _two_ men to fall madly in love with me? I can almost understand Erik--he's crazy. End of story. But, Raoul! What was he thinking? I'm an _Opera singer_ for goodness sake!**

**I need help. I need to learn how not to be miserable for the rest of my life. This marriage _has_ to work… for the sake of both our sanities. **

**And so, Erik is graciously allowing me to visit Mamma Valerius tomorrow. **

"Erik,"

He looked up from his sketch pad as Christine found a comfortable place on the sofa across from him. Settling back into his chair, he tilted his head to indicate he was listening.

Christine folded her hands neatly in her lap and looked Erik in the eye. A few moments before she had been wringing her hands in a nervous gesture but she had quickly composed herself and, by the time she entered the room, was the picture of control.

"I wish to visit someone." she stated calmly

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I do not trust you."

She shrugged and her eyebrows knitted together in thought. "I suppose that makes sense."

Erik was a little taken aback by her indifferent acceptance of an obvious attack on her character. He was still hurt and the bitterness in him urged him to make her feel it too.

It had been his intent to pick a fight with her and, from what he knew of Christine, he expected one of two reactions: She would start crying and apologize for all her deception and beg his forgiveness; or, she would slap him with all the righteous indignation she could muster, deny everything, and shout at him for daring to call her a liar.

Either way, her request would have been forgotten and he would have his bitterness justified once again.

But this, this was completely unexpected…

This was the second time now that she'd shrugged off his resentful comments (the first being the time, last night, when he'd tried to distract her from her 'game'). Instead she sat comfortably, head held high, eyes keeping contact with his own. She denied nothing and was completely unapologetic. Rather, she had a resigned look in her eyes. She knew exactly what she had done to deserve his hateful words and was prepared to let him hurl them at her to his heart's content.

He remembered back to the time she tore off his mask. Afterwards, her reaction was just as casual. _I made quite a mess of things the other night, didn't I?_ she had asked.

The melodramatic side of Erik was miffed that she would be so cavalier in the midst of his powerful emotional turmoil.

However, right now he was more inclined to curiosity. This girl intrigued him. Every time he thought he knew everything there was to know about her, she would do something completely surprising. Christine was like a puzzle he couldn't figure out and it fascinated as much as frustrated him.

**It took some convincing. **

The silence was uncomfortable and Erik's stare was intense. After a few awkward seconds, Christine was forced to break eye contact, clearing her throat before continuing,

"Well then, Erik, since you are reluctant to let me leave… perhaps you would consider _taking_ me somewhere?"

"Just tell me what it is you need and I'll retrieve it for you."

"You can't… I mean… I need to speak with someone. I need to see Mamma Valerius."

"Why?" he demanded, standing up from his chair and towering over her in a threatening stance.

"Do you really want to know?" she asked, looking away and blushing deeply.

"YES!" he shouted as he forced her to look up at him. "Why, indeed, Christine? So that you can call the authorities? Thinking of escaping, perhaps? Calling for help? Perhaps you want to tell them where the monster… where the infamous _Opera Ghost_ has been hiding, hmm?"

By now he was pacing the length of the sofa furiously like a caged animal. Christine sat still and patiently allowed him to finish his tirade. She had seen enough of this man's temper to know that it was best not to feed it. When he had quieted again, she continued, unaffected by his outburst.

"No nothing like that. I need… advice…"

"About what?" he asked, softly this time. He was really curious now.

She looked down at her hands, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. "I need to know… about… marriage things… about the things… that people… do… when they are married… Oh Erik, please don't make me spell it out for you!"

**It is important to note that I did not lie to him. Everything I said was the truth. I just asked in a way that would ensure he wouldn't ask many questions. **

Erik was equally embarrassed when he realized what it was she must have been talking about. Now it was his turn to blush furiously as he turned away from her to face the fireplace.

Another long stretch of uncomfortable silence followed. This time, however, Erik was the one to break it.

"I think we should speak about that, Christine. I… I wanted you to know… you see… I would never…"

He took a deep, shuddering breath in a feeble attempt to compose himself.

Christine had to stifle a giggle as she watch him fidget and fumble for words. Instead she found great interest in the stitching of the couch cushion.

"I would never force you to do something you didn't want…" he finally breathed.

_You're forcing me to marry you,_ Christine thought. She bit her tongue, though, and kept the comment to herself. It wouldn't do to pick a fight now. Besides, she was infinitely curious about where he was going with this…

Noticing the barely-veiled irritation that flashed across her face, Erik tried to clarify, "What I mean to say is that… we will soon be married. But… my dear girl, I do not wish for you to despise me… I only wish for your companionship… I am content to be near you and enjoy your company. If you ask me never to… touch you… I would abide by your wishes."

More uncomfortable silence. Erik's entire body was shaking and he refused to meet her gaze. Christine was just as embarrassed, as was evident by her now beet red complexion.

**What I offered to get him to agree is a little disconcerting to me. **

"Is that what you want, Christine?"

She realized what it was he was offering and it moved her. This was another one of those selfless gestures that surprised her so. He was a man who wanted to be like any other man, and yet, out of love for her, he was willing to release her from the marital obligations that might make her uncomfortable.

The truth of the matter was, she was uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. The idea of those icy fingers on her skin… that fiery gaze burning into her in the darkness… it was something Christine was not prepared for. She wasn't really prepared to even think about it. However, she was to be married in less than a day and this was bound to come up sooner or later. She could see how hard Erik was trying to make this work. It was the least she could do to meet him half-way.

"Erik…" she sighed, noting how he immediately tensed. It was as if he was bracing himself for her inevitable rejection. "I know you don't trust me. I'll admit that you don't have cause to trust me. But, I want you to know… that _I_ trust _you_ implicitly. You have never broken a promise to me and I appreciate that more than you know. And so I tell you this: I will not deny you anything, Erik. But… we hardly know each other and… well I'll admit that I'm apprehensive. I will not ask you never to touch me… but I will trust you to wait until I'm ready. Is that a fair compromise?"

**I don't know why I do the things I do. **

Erik nearly choked. Her answer was unexpected. Never in a thousand years would he presume to subject his ugliness upon something so beautiful… even if she were his. He had merely been trying to give her an out… put her mind at ease and possibly win some points for his gallantry.

But she had not rejected him. He had given her the opportunity to do so with no consequences… but she did not.

Erik swore softly. Suddenly he was glad he was facing away from her as he felt his body react to the thought of what she was suggesting. _Not good. Not good, Erik… bad timing. Let's see… math? In a cyclic quadrilateral having perpendicular diagonals, the perpendicular to a side from the point of intersection of the diagonals always bisects the opposite side. Still no good… okay… history--Charles the Bald, Louis II the Stammerer, Louis III with Carloman, Charles the Fat, Odo, Charles the Simple… Damn! It's not working… I need to get out of here… _

"Yes, I believe that would be… acceptable…" he breathed, "I will leave you now, it's getting late…"

"But Erik," she cried, running toward him and placing a staying hand on the fist that was clenched to his side. Erik tensed and refused to turn around, the physical contact doing nothing to help his situation.

"Yes, my dear?" he ground out slowly.

"In light of everything we just discussed… well… It's even more important that I see Mamma Valerius. Please? Will you allow me this?"

**Still, if I don't think about it, it won't trouble me. Besides, I have to admit that, all and all, the whole conversation was mildly entertaining. It occurred to me that I have never seen him embarrassed before. Erik is such a passionate and commanding personality that something about seeing him shuffle about and stare at the ground like a guilty child is thoroughly amusing…**

"I think it could be arranged… _after_ the wedding." he said harshly and stormed out of the room.

_He _would_ have to slip that in! _She thought bitterly,_ Of course, _after _the wedding. We wouldn't want the little fiancée running off before he's officially, legally claimed me as his property. Wait, scratch that last comment. I need to have a better attitude. I should tone down this sarcastic side of me. I'll put it on the list of things to work on. _

With that thought she collapsed back into her seat with a book. She really had no reason to be irritated. She got what she wanted and, in all honestly, she had fully expected all the nasty little side comments. Overall, the conversation had been a good one. It just irked her that he had snapped at her and stormed off like that when she thought everything was going so well.

Meanwhile, Erik paced the length of his bedroom, trying to recall all the nations capitals in alphabetical order.

**Anyway, hopefully Mamma can help me. She's not always the most clearheaded individual, but she knows a lot about life. I'll take all the help I can get at this point.**

**Until tomorrow,**

**Christine Daae (for the last time)**

**PS--It just occurred to me, I have no idea what my new name will be…**


	29. Chapter 29

**Dear Journal,**

**It's done. Over. Until death and whatnot. **

_She was wandering. Lost. It was so very dark. _

"_Erik…" she called. Where was he? She called his name again. Why hadn't he found her?_

_She continued to stumble through the passageways. Then she came upon a lake. Their lake. She was under the Opera house. The catacombs. She remembered how she lived here now. _

_But where was Erik? _

_In the dark she saw two candles. She heard a strange laugh. Madness. That was the word that came to her mind when she heard it. _

_She moved away from the lake, approaching the flames. She walked for what felt like an eternity. Then, she heard a groan and she looked up into an open door. A man was chained up in the shadows. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was there. _

_Suddenly the candles turned in her direction. No, not candles. Eyes. Glowing, yellow eyes. _

"_You were not meant to see that, Christine." he said menacingly._

_She stepped back, stumbling, and then turned an ran. She knew not where she was running to, but she fled anyway, just needing to get away from the blazing eyes. _

"_Christine…" she heard her name whispered. It was gentle… adoring._

"_Christine..." she heard the voice again… slightly louder. Pleading with her… it wanted something. But what?_

_Suddenly she felt a hand on her neck and another grasping her shoulder. She looked up and saw that he had moved in front of her. She sensed he was about to… what? Kiss her? Tell her something? What did he want? His glowing eyes looked down into hers as he gently, but firmly, shook her._

"Christine!"

Her eyes snapped open to find a mirror image of what she had seen in her dream. In the pitch blackness of the room, she saw only his two yellow eyes, gazing down on her. She felt his hand on her shoulder, and his other behind her head, his thumb gently rubbing circles against her neck.

"Erik!" she cried. Her voice gave off a sense of total panic. Erik released her and she jerked away, scrambling up her bed until her back hit the headboard.

"Easy, love," he said softly, approaching her like a wounded animal, with calm, slow movements.

Christine's panic moved quickly to confusion. She didn't know how to feel. Was she relieved? Yes, but not fully. Angry? Afraid? Was she happy to see Erik or wasn't she? The details of her dream were slipping quickly from her memory, leaving her with an overwhelming sense of unease.

But, his voice soothed her and the familiarity of his presence was calming to her. When he replaced his bony hand to the side of her neck a few desperate sobs escaped her throat and she allowed him to pull her the rest of the way towards him. Fear from the dream warred with frustration at not remembering it. She cried into his chest and held tightly to his shirt. His arms wrapped around her and he rocked her back and forth, humming softly.

Despite his cool demeanor, Erik was in a full-blown panic of his own.

A few hours ago, he had entered her room. He was too troubled to sleep.

His mind was flashing through all the possibilities… everything that could go wrong in the next few hours. It had been the same since _that night_ and he had a feeling he would not get a good night's sleep until Christine was fully his.

So, after a bit of frustrated pacing and failed attempts at reading, he did what he often did when he had trouble sleeping: he went to see Christine.

Erik rarely slept because, when he did, he was plagued with nightmares. Between all the unspeakable things that had happened to him, and all the terrible acts he had committed, Erik had ample material for nightmares. His life had been horror. Every day had been hell for him.

That is, every day until he met Christine.

Having Christine in his life gave him purpose. She had brought him back to life. She made his cold heart beat again. The day he met her was the first time in forty years that he had _wanted_ to live.

Whenever he couldn't sleep, he would seek her out. Watching Christine sleep was infinitely therapeutic for him. As he stared at her sleeping form, he would be washed over by a sense of peace. Without ever knowing it, Christine made Erik feel like a man instead of a monster. Here she was, completely unaware and vulnerable, and _he_ was protecting her. He would see to it that nothing ever hurt her. His angel… his precious girl… his bride.

Yes, his bride. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed this to be official. The what-ifs and insecurities would drive him mad.

Carefully, he moved across the room to wake her. It was early--still nighttime even--but he couldn't wait any longer. They would go to the chapel now and finish this.

However, as he reached her bedside, he stopped. In her sleep had she whispered his name? Was he imagining it? Was she thinking of him in her dreams? When he heard it again he almost stopped breathing. What was she thinking of? Was this a nightmare… or, dare he hope, was she thinking good thoughts of him? The way she called him was hopeful, beseeching, almost _searching_. He longed to answer her and hold her close, but he didn't want to wake her lest his hopes be dashed.

Suddenly, her breathing grew ragged and agitated. She began to sweat and her head tossed back and forth in a frenzy.

He whispered her name, hoping to wake her without frightening her. When she didn't respond, he called her again, louder… begging her to wake. Her movements only intensified.

Unsure of what else to do, Erik thought only to calm her. He reached out and pinned her shoulder to the bed while he grabbed the back of her head with his other hand to still her anguished thrashing.

"Christine!" he said, forcefully.

She awoke with a start and he pulled back. He murmured soothing words to her as the realization of her dreaming hit her. As she looked around and got her bearings, he approached her again slowly. Erik never knew what possessed him to touch her again--he so rarely risked physical affection--but, when he did, she threw herself into him, sobbing.

He didn't know what to do to comfort her. He hadn't much experience with that sort of thing. Her skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat but she was shivering and felt ice cold--even to him. He thought of his response when she first took away his mask and remembered how she had soothed him and endeavored to do the same for her.

It worked because, after a few minutes, she pulled back, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her nightgown.

"I'm sorry, Erik." she muttered.

He merely sighed. He wanted to tell her that there was nothing to be sorry for or that he would always be there for her, but there was nothing he could say or do that would make any difference at that point. It unnerved him how much he missed her touch when she pulled away.

"Why are you here?" she asked after a time.

Erik cleared his throat. "It's time."

He did not need to explain. Somehow she could read it in his eyes. It was time to get married. She nodded in acquiescence.

"I'll give you a few minutes to get dressed while I make breakfast and find a carriage. Can you be ready to leave in one hour?"

"Yes," she choked out, sparing a glance at the clock. Christine had been through a whirlwind of emotions in the last ten minutes and, well, this bit of news was not one she had expected to wake up to.

When Erik left, she spared a glance at the clock. _2:30 in the morning. Well, the man surely doesn't waste time, does he? When he says 'morning' he means it!_

**Why am I surprised? I knew it was going to happen. I knew I would be married today. Yet, I am somewhat in shock that it actually happened.**

"I now pronounce you man and wife." the sleepy priest proclaimed.

"You may now kiss---" he was cut of by a glare from the masked man.

"Ahem… well… then, may I present M. and Mme. Erik---" another glare. It occurred to him then that the intimidating man in black had never given him a last name. He shrugged, between the unreasonable hour and the exorbitant amount of money the masked man had given him, the priest could really care less.

"Well, congratulations anyway." he said, signifying the end of the service so that the couple could leave.

Erik was uncomfortable and had to force himself not to drag Christine from the chapel. He never wanted to spend more time than necessary in these places. In church, he felt even more unwelcome than he did everywhere else--if that was possible.

**I think, somewhere in the back of my mind, I had this happy little delusion that Raoul would charge into the chapel, on a white horse, and steal me away.**

"Wake up, _vicomte_!" said Erik's overly cheery voice as he kicked Raoul in the foot. He groaned, forcing his tired muscles to cooperate long enough to look the taller man in the eye.

"What do you want now, _freak_?" he spat.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such an unhappy way to talk on such a happy day!" the voice chided, giving the boy another swift kick as he struggled into a sitting position.

"What are you talking about? What's so _happy_ about it?"

"Oh my! Did I forget to tell you? My apologies, monsieur. I have been distracted as of late. You see… today was my _wedding day_."

"YOU MONSTER! LET HER GO!" Raoul screamed, lunging for the masked man only to be kicked in the stomach. He fumed. Erik had not kicked him hard enough to break ribs, just enough to push him around. He hadn't hurt him. He was _toying_ with him.

"Now, now. That is no way to act in your position. If I were not in such a jolly mood, there would be consequences for your attitude."

"You have Christine. You have everything. Why do you still keep me here?" he grated.

"Ah, now that _is_ a good question. You see, boy, I do not have everything, I'm afraid. I have the impression that my lovely bride is less than enamored with her husband. She will love me… in time. She is _confused _right now. You have put her through a lot in the last few months. I know I've said it before… but you really should have stayed away from her. Really, a mere _boy_ falling for an _actress_! It's absurd! You might as well try to bottle the sun. Ah, but I digress. You see, she's emotional right now, and I fear a viper such as yourself might try to convince her to run away. Now I can't have that. The last thing I need is you interfering before I am assured that my beautiful wife is convinced of how much better off she is with me."

"You are mad!"

"So you have said." he shrugged, "At any rate, enjoy your stay. It might be awhile."

Then he tossed a basket of food at the vicomte's feet and left.

After he was sure Erik had left for good, Raoul crawled over to the basket and looked inside. He was surprised. The food was good! The bread was soft; there was cheese, a bit of fruit, and even wine! Raoul wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disgusted. For all of Erik's taunting, he was, apparently, in an excellent mood.

**Or, maybe, Erik would realize he didn't want to marry me after all and he'd let me go. **

**I wonder how I would have felt if that were the case. Would I have been relieved and elated at my newfound freedom? Or would I have been depressed that he didn't want me? It's an uncomfortable question but, since it hasn't the slightest impact on my situation, it's irrelevant. I refuse to dwell on it further. **

"You look beautiful this morning, my dear."

"Thank you... Erik?"

"Yes?"

"What happens now?"

Erik had a feeling she wasn't asking about the rest of the day, but that was how he planned to answer because, beyond that, he had no idea. What happens now? Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine this perfect creature would be his wife. His real, living wife. In the past few hours he had worked himself into quite a state. So many things could go wrong that he could not fathom everything going so very _right_. Now he had a wife. What happens now? Best take it one day at a time until they could figure out a better way.

"Now, dear girl, we go home. It's early yet. Perhaps we can have a cup of tea and then you can take a nap? Do you still wish to see Mme. Valerius today?"

"Yes." she said softly, happy he remembered.

"Then I shall take you this afternoon."

"I'd like that. Thank you Erik."

He smiled fondly, unseen behind his mask, but she could make out the affectionate look in his eye as he gazed down at her.

"Anything for you, my dear."

**It's strangely comforting, this marriage. The finality of it all gives me relief. It's over. I lost the game. I played my best and I lost. **

**There's nothing to do now but pick up the pieces and make the best of my situation. **

**And I _will_ make the best of it. I'm determined to. I lost the game but maybe I can still have my happy ending. I have to believe that. I need some shred of hope to cling to--even if it is only a shred.**

"I'll be waiting here for you, Christine." he told her as the black carriage pulled up to Mme. Valerius' flat. "I expect you to return in an hour, will that be enough time?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Do I need to remind you no to try and run off?"

He was using that dark, warning tone again and she wondered how their pleasant conversation had taken such a sudden turn. _Why is he so impossible to read? How can any person be so unpredictable?_

"No, Erik. I will be just inside the house." She answered automatically. Fortunately, she was not so lost in thought that she might unintentionally hesitate in her answer. That would have made things worse. However, this little bit of information she had observed interested her and she stored it away to think about later.

"Very well, my dear. If you are not back in a reasonable amount of time I shall come after you."

"I understand, Erik. There will be no need."

"Good girl."

**I spoke to Mamma Valerius. She was, fortunately, having one of her more lucid moments. Be thankful for small miracles, right? **

"What am I going to do, Mamma?" she cried, burying her face into the old woman's lap as she had when she was a little girl.

"Whatever do you mean, child?" Mamma asked in all sincerity. Christine had found her Angel of Music and gotten married. What was there to be so distraught over?

"Don't you get it? He is not an angel! He is a madman!"

"Then why ever did you marry him?"

"Mamma! He _forced _me! I had no choice in the matter!"

"Bah!" she snorted, "Don't be silly, child. You always have a choice."

"Haven't you been listening, Mamma? He would have killed Raoul."

"And you _chose_ to save him." she countered, "Just because the alternatives are not pretty, doesn't mean you don't have a choice. You made yours, and now you have to deal with it. Now, the way I see it, you can _choose_ to be miserable or you can _choose_ to make it work."

**It did not go the way I imagined it. I don't know what I was looking for. I think I was expecting sympathy. I didn't get any. In retrospect, I suppose her realistic attitude was what I needed to hear. That didn't make it sting any less. **

"But I don't love him," she whined.

"Love? Is that what you're worried about? Goodness, child! Have you learned nothing? Do you think Professor Valerius and I were in love when we married?"

"You weren't?" Christine asked incredulously. She practically grew up with this couple. After her mother died, she and her father moved in with the Valerius'. Christine had always enjoyed watching them interact. They adored each other. Next to her parents, she had never seen two people more in love.

"Heavens, no! We barely knew each other. I was looking to get out of the house and the university wouldn't hire a single professor. It just made sense. So, when he proposed, I accepted and we were married a week later."

"But… wow! I… I had no idea you didn't love him!"

"Oh, now don't go thinking that, child. I did love him… very much so. I still do. It just took time. You've filled your head with opera and romance, and your dear father--my he rest in peace--indulged you. But, as much as I love you, it's time to grow up. This sort of thing doesn't happen in real life. Real people don't fall in love at first sight. A lasting love takes work, child, and lots of it! Remember what I always told you?"

"Anything you fall into, you climb right back out of." she recited.

"That's right, dear one. You may not love him now, but you will grow to. You just have to try and make your marriage work. From what you've told me, he already adores you… so you're half way there, right?"

Christine giggled a little bit. "I suppose you could look at it that way."

"That's right, dear, chin up. It's not all that bad."

She was not wholly convinced, but decided not to waste time arguing. "So, Mamma, what do I do now?"

"Now, child, you learn how to be a wife."

"And I suppose you have some suggestions?"

"Why, as a matter of fact, I do." the old woman grinned.

**She had some good advice, though. I took notes so I would not forget anything. **

"But I thought you said marriage was all about compromise?"

"It is, dear, but you must recognize those things that you are not willing to compromise on. You both have them, I'm sure of it. I know it sounds contrary, but you have to trust me on this. _Talk_ to your husband so that he knows what kind of things are important to you. Don't leave him guessing."

"Okay… establish non-negotiables. Anything else?" Christine felt even more stressed out now than she did when she came. There was so much to remember. Still, talking to Mamma had given her hope and she was encouraged.

"Well, I think we've almost covered it all. Lets see… anything else… Don't ever neglect the little things, Christine. They often have the biggest impact."

_My. That was cliché._

"I know that look," Mamma seemed to be reading her mind, "It sounds cliché, I realize. But, things become cliché for a reason, don't they?" she said, chuckling at her own joke.

Christine rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious, Christine. Every morning I would make sure Prof. Valerius had his coffee just right and, before he stepped out the door, I would always straighten the collar of his jacket and slick down that lock of hair that he always had sticking up. In the evening, at dinner, he would always ask me about my day first, even if his was busy and stressful. They were just little things, dear, but it's how we showed each other we cared."

The woman's eyes glistened as she thought back fondly on her beloved husband. Christine smiled as she saw this woman in a new light. She used to think it was odd how the couple would always address each other so formally. Now, after all she'd heard, she thought it was terribly romantic. She thought back to how the professor would extend his hand to his wife, saying 'Mme. Valerius this' and 'Mme. Valerius that'… it was like he was still courting her after all those years.

Christine sighed and wonder if she could ever think of Erik like that. She doubted it but, after this afternoon, she realized that anything was possible.

It occurred to her, then, that she still had no idea what her last name was. That was… unsettling… to say the least.

"Well, I think I've let my husband wait long enough. I should be going. It was good to see you again, Mamma."

"Oh, wait! Before you go… I found this as I was cleaning up," Mamma said, handing Christine an old book from her bedside table, "It's that book of fairy-tales your father read. I thought you'd like to have it."

The young woman's face darkened slightly at the memories but took the book and smiled politely.

**I believe it would be best if I began following it right away. **

"You're late" he growled.

"I'm sorry. It's just that---I'm sorry." She was about to launch into one of the thousand excuses that had run through her head when, in a moment of understanding, she realized how none of them mattered. She thought back to any of the instances where Erik had accused her of something. He never listened to her reasoning… it just was what it was. She was late… it didn't really matter _why_ she was late… she just _was_ and it irritated him.

For a moment Erik waited, glaring at her, willing her to say something else so he could snap at her. When she simply apologized and left it at that, he was a little taken aback. He nodded curtly in her direction and signaled the carriage to continue.

"Is punctuality very important to you Erik?" she asked, knowing the answer already but trying to take some of Mamma's advice on communication.

"Yes, of course it is." he answered irritably. Erik hated waiting in the carriage for Christine. He hated being away from her at all. He hated the feeling of helplessness that came from her absence. She could be anywhere doing anything and he would not know. What's worse, she could be in danger and he'd never know it. That is, perhaps, one of the reasons he spent so much time watching her, unseen in the Opera house. The out-of-control feeling at her absence was akin to a panic attack for Erik. If he couldn't be with her, he would try to control the time of her return. It gave him a small sense of control and put his mind at ease, if only slightly.

"So what you're saying is: It is very important that I am on time and that is not something you're willing to budge on?"

"Yes!" he snapped, "What is the purpose of this conversation?"

"Nothing really, I just wanted to know. There are also things that I am not willing to budge on."

"Like what?" he asked, his irritation giving way to his curiosity. _Is she about to make demands? Does she realize what kind of position she is in? Now, now, Erik, don't kid yourself. You'd give her anything she wants… admit it. Fine, but don't let her know that. Deal._

"Well…" she started. In truth, she hadn't thought that far ahead. She hadn't expected this conversation to continue this far. What was important to her? Several things rushed to mind. _I don't want you killing anyone. I don't want you threatening me. I want you to get rid of Don Juan Triumphant. I want to live above ground._

"I…"

"Well, come on… what is it?"

"I refuse to sleep in a coffin." she announced. _Coward._

Erik let out a sound of surprise that was something between a laugh and a cough. _What an odd girl! Of all the… how very odd! Wait… does she really think you'd make her sleep in your coffin? She really thinks so low of you that she expects you to force her to sleep in the same bed as you? You sick man… what have you made her think of you? _

"Christine… I would never… _ever…_ presume to have you sleep in my coffin."

"Excellent." she said, "Then we shall be sleeping in my bed?"

_WAIT! Did she just say 'we'? She wasn't objecting to sleeping with you… she was just objecting to your choice of bed. Of course she'd object to that… Erik, you're a perverse one, that's for sure… who sleeps in a coffin? Honestly! Hold on… is she saying that she intends for you to share _her_ bed? She is! What to do… what to say… what… Say _something_ you fool, she's waiting for an answer. _

"If that is what you wish." he choked out.

Christine smiled slightly and they enjoyed the rest of the short trip in reflective silence.

**I still have the rest of the day ahead of me. But first, I think a nap is in order. This is one of those few times when Erik is right to put me to bed in the middle of the day. Honestly, who gets married at four o'clock in the morning, anyway?**

**Until next time,**

**Christine**


	30. Chapter 30

**Diary,**

**Last night was, I expect, the most peculiar wedding night in history. **

Erik smiled as Christine shuffled out of her bedroom to where he was in the sitting room. He thought she never looked more adorable than when she had just woken up from a nap. Her eyes were big and bright as she rubbed sleep out of them and her cheeks were red where she had laid on her pillow. She also radiated heat for a few minutes after she woke up--probably due to all the blankets she piled on herself. Half-Awake Christine was the picture of everything someone would want to cuddle up to.

That is probably why Erik so often insisted she rest in the middle of the day. She was, in a word, cute.

"Did you have a nice nap, my dear?"

Christine nodded, not quite coherent enough to trust her voice. She was always just a touch grumpy when she first got up. Just another one of those things her husband found endearing.

_Husband?_

_Oh yes. That's right._

For some reason, the sight of Erik sprawled in the large chair with his book lazily draped over his knee reminded her of the time she had come in like this, asking him to brush her hair. Her sleepy mind remembered how good it felt to have another touching her sensitive scalp.

It was an odd thought, she registered that much. Still, it had been an emotional couple of days. She figured this urge was a positive one, considering her resolve, and she wasn't sure how many of those she'd have.

It was settled then. She'd act on what felt right.

Still without speaking, Christine padded over to Erik's chair and plopped herself down on the floor in front of him with her back against his leg.

Erik tensed. _What game is she playing at?_ When he did not move after a few seconds, Christine made a little grunt of impatience and purposefully took his palm and set it on the crown of her head. Erik chuckled and took the hint. As he gently combed through her light tresses with his fingers, he felt her relax slightly against him.

Christine sighed. _I could get used to this,_ she thought peacefully.

To her embarrassment, she heard Erik chuckling softly behind her and realized that she had spoken her thoughts out loud. She felt her face color and Erik took the opportunity to brush his fingertips against the skin of her neck under her hair. He loved the fact that her blush spread all the way back there.

**The afternoon was wonderfully lazy. By the feel of it, it would seem as if none of this drama had ever occurred. It wasn't special or significant in any way. In fact, it seemed as if we had been married for years. It was the most comfortable I have ever been with Erik. **

**The evening was much more intense.**

Later that afternoon, Erik donned his cloak and hat as if to leave.

"Where are you going?" Christine inquired innocently.

"Merely to take a walk and get some air," he said affectionately.

A walk sounded good to Christine. "May I come to?" she asked.

"NO!" Erik snapped. Christine started and he softened his tone. "No, my dear… I just have a bit of business to attend to. Nothing you need to concern yourself with. If you wish, I shall take you out for a walk later this week."

Christine nodded obediently and he swept from the room.

**I have no idea where he goes each night, but he always comes back in a strange mood. **

Christine remembered Mamma's words about doing little things to make the biggest difference and she decided to make herself useful in Erik's absence. She busied herself first in the library, replacing books on shelves and stacking papers neatly. She found herself a dust rag and wiped down all the furniture. She smiled when she looked at the finished room. It felt good to be useful.

**It's curious really. It is not that he is especially angry (not any more than usual, anyway), he just seems testy. **

As Christine was placing a book on a particularly high shelf, the slam of the front door made her jump. _He's home._

She heard her name called but, at the moment, it was taking all her concentration not to fall off the makeshift stepstool she was using to reach the bookshelf. When she didn't answer immediately, she heard the distinctive sound of breaking furniture and crashing glass.

"Christine!" Erik growled, tearing through the house like a wild animal. _Where is she? She was here when I left! _He began turning up furniture as if, perhaps, she would have been hiding under it. _She's gone! She has left me! How dare she? I will find her! She is Erik's wife now. She belongs to him. Christine… Christine… don't you see? I will _never_ let you go! I _will_ find you._

"Christine! Where are you?"

"I'm here, Erik…" she answered calmly. He looked up to see her standing in the hallway, wiping her dusty hands off on a rag.

The masked man flew towards her and pulled her into a fierce hug. He crushed her against his chest, holding her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe.

She allowed it though.

A little voice inside her told her that fighting him just now would be the worst move she could make. Instead she relaxed into him, pressing her face into his neck and gently caressing his back.

"Don't _ever_ do that to me, Christine." he breathed into her hair.

"Erik?"

He roughly pulled her away, holding her face between his hands and staring at her wildly as if she might soon disappear.

"I mean it, Christine!" he said, harshly this time, "Don't leave me! I could not endure it. And don't hide from me either. No. No… this just will not do. Christine, from now on I must know exactly where you are, even when we are at home."

Christine's brows knitted together in confusion. "What in the world happened?"

"Just promise me, Christine!" he pleaded, shaking her slightly.

Her first reaction would be to argue. He was being irrational. However, then she thought back to a bit of the advice that Mamma had given her that morning.

"_You argue too much, child."_

"_But, Mamma."_

"_I'm serious, if you want this marriage to be a happy one, you need to stop picking fights with your husband."_

"_But he---"_

"_He starts them? Don't you see, child, that is not the point. You have the power in you to stop arguments before they are too much for you. I've seen it in you before. I know the two of you have a lot to work out… but sometimes it's a matter of deciding which battles to fight and when. If he can't make that distinction, it is up to you to do it for him."_

Mamma was right---choose your battles. Christine realized that, while this unreasonable command should be discussed at some point, now was not the time to argue.

"Of course, Erik," she soothed. Almost instantly she felt him relax against her. _Good job Christine!_

**Whenever he comes back from his 'walks' I have this distinct impression that I have done something to offend him. **

After a time, she took his hand and began leading him down the hallway. "Come into the library, Erik, and see what I've done."

Erik gasped when he entered the room. Christine grinned excitedly at first, but her smile became more of a grimace when she discovered his gasp was not one of happiness.

"No, no, no! Christine! What have you done in here?"

"I just thought I'd straighten it up a bit for you…" she answered meekly.

"You just---Oh, Christine! Where are my papers? What of the books that were just over here? What happened to my sketches?"

Christine willed back tears as she quietly pointed to where she had stashed each item he inquired about. _This was… unexpected._

When they had finished, he did not speak but stood in the center of the room, fists clenching and unclenching, and eyes glaring at anything and everything.

She tentatively approached him from behind and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright? Did something happen? In the tunnels, I mean... just now"

He wrenched his arm from her grasp and turned violently to face her.

"That is none of your concern!" he roared and stormed out in the direction of the music room.

Christine prayed he wasn't going to start Don Juan again and started thinking of how she could fix this situation. _Curse you, Erik! You are not making this easy…_

**I know that he is hiding something from me. Well, I'm willing to be that he's hiding many 'somethings' from me. I'd say that I intend to find out, but I'm not so sure I really want to know.**

**I am no detective, at any rate. **

The Persian sat alone in his office staring vacantly out a window. He couldn't exactly explain it, but something just didn't feel… right.

He had been restless ever since he had spoken with the police. Philippe de Chagny had been killed by Erik's 'siren'. Of that he was sure. But what of the vicomte and the singer?

The gendarmes had insisted that they had eloped somewhere during the commotion at the Opera.

The assumption seemed plausible. No, it actually seemed very likely. It's just… something about it all didn't sit right with the daroga.

What of Erik?

From what he knew of his friend, Erik would not just let the girl go after everything he had put her through.

_She loves me, daroga. She loves me for myself!_

The Persian cringed when he thought of those words. There was so much hope… so much joy in those eerie yellow eyes. What might have happened when he discovered that it was all a lie?

Could he have killed them?

That seemed unlikely. Surely he would have murdered the boy without a second thought.

But Christine… she was another matter entirely.

From his conversations with the masked man, he had no doubt that he loved her. Granted, his sanity was not entirely stable. It is possible he could have harmed her in his jealousy. He wouldn't discredit the probability, but it just didn't seem to fit Erik's personality. The Phantom was nothing if not possessive. Once he deemed something as _his_ he would guard it and protect it fiercely.

The truth of the matter was, he just didn't think Erik had it in his cold heart to harm this woman.

So, if he didn't kill them both, perhaps he killed the vicomte and is still holding the girl hostage? That thought was _much_ more likely.

There was but one alternative in the Persians mind.

_Erik is dead._

He was convinced that Erik would never have released Christine while he still breathed. Therefore, either he is dead or he still has the singer in his possession.

Either way, he needed to be sure. The daroga threw his brandy glass against the wall in frustration. Confounded officers! Why couldn't they have gotten off their hands and done a proper investigation. He never would have allowed such incompetence among his officers in Persia.

He nearly growled when he remembered his time in Persia. He had been a fool to save Erik's life. He had been young then… naïve and trusting and idealistic. He had desperately wanted to believe there was good somewhere in Erik. And so he helped him escape when the shah ordered his death.

Now part of him was bound to the masked man forever. He was _his _responsibility. If Erik had killed the girl or the vicomte, their blood would be on _his_ hands as well.

A servant, having heard the crash of breaking glass, burst into the room.

"Is everything alright, sir?"

"Yes… well no… Darius, I am going to be going out of town for a few days."

"Yes, sir, may I ask why?"

The daroga sighed. "I need to get my affairs in order."

"Sir?" Darius asked, perplexed. He had served his master for many years, even traveled with him from Persia. It disturbed him to see the man so weighed down and beaten. And now he spoke of getting his _affairs in order_?

"Yes, Darius. Soon I am going to visit Erik. If he is alive… I might very well be signing my death warrant by going back there."

He had to.

It was his duty.

Besides, he figured he stood a better shot at it than most.

He _was _a detective, at any rate.

**Still, I am his wife. If I am to spend the rest of my life with him, perhaps I should find out what I have gotten myself into. It couldn't be worse than anything I've witnessed already, right? **

Later that evening, Christine decided to try again. Perhaps Erik might be in a better mood after spending some time with his music.

"How do you like your tea, Erik?" she asked as she entered carrying a small tray.

"I didn't ask for any tea." he snapped, turning around on his organ bench to face her. Christine paled and blinked back frustrated tears. Erik caught only the barest glimpse of emotion on her face before she replaced her expression with one of blank, schooled indifference. _Erik you idiot! She's trying to please you. _

Christine cleared her throat. _I will not cry. I will not cry. _"Suit yourself," she said lightly, "I'll just leave it here for you in case you change your mind."

As she turned to leave, he called her back. She turned and arched her eyebrow questioningly.

"I take it black." he said. Christine nodded and silently poured him a cup.

Erik tried desperately to think of something to say that would not make anything worse. "I… I didn't mean to offend you, my dear… I just…" he glanced up and saw the look of impatience on her face. _Don't be stupid, Erik, say something!_ "I just… erm… I can't drink it with my mask on." he finally blurted out.

Christine shrugged, still with the same emotionless expression and tone, and said, "Mask on or off… it makes no difference. I'm sorry I've made you uncomfortable, I'll be in my---in _our_---room if you need me."

The words 'our room' made Erik's face grow hot and he was thankful that his mask hid his embarrassment. Once again, he stopped her when she made to leave--so desperate was he to keep her near him if only for a little longer.

"Yes, Erik?"

"I… well… you cannot go to bed yet."

"Why not?"

"Because it is still our wedding day and I have not yet played the Wedding Mass I have written for you."

Christine smiled slightly. She had forgotten all about that.

Erik cleared his throat nervously and continued speaking, "You are wondering, I am sure, why it was not played at our wedding. You see, my darling wife, this piece was written only for you… and me, of course… but mostly for you. It will only ever be heard by our ears alone…"

Christine just let him ramble. Sometimes his nervousness made him launch into these long-winded explanations of nothing. If Raoul or someone else did that, it would irritate her to no end. However, with Erik… well it was just sweet in his own special way.

There were very few things she could consider 'sweet' about her husband, but she had to admit that she thoroughly enjoyed seeing him nervous.

**One more thing--tonight he played our Wedding Mass. The music was sublime. It was indescribable. 'Beautiful' does not begin to describe it. **

**It was so much like _Don Juan Triumphant _in the sense of its passion and depth. And yet, there could not be two more disparate pieces.**

Christine relaxed on the sofa as Erik began to play and sing for her. She wanted to weep and shout and sing all at once. Instead she closed her eyes and let the music wash over her.

**The Kyrie section was especially moving. Kyrie Eleison--Lord have mercy. The way Erik sang it… I feel like he bared a piece of his soul to me that I had never known was there. **

When the last chord had sounded, Erik turned around to look at his bride. She lay stretched on his sofa, not quite asleep but not quite awake. Erik sighed and felt a tug at his heart. _She is so beautiful_.

He knelt beside her and took her little hand in his.

"I love you." he said to her softly. Christine's eyes fluttered slightly and a soft smile graced her lips.

Erik lifted her gently and she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled into him, making him exhale as she shared some of her warmth with him. As he carried her down the hall, she rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his neck.

Utterly content.

**Who would have guessed, after hearing something like Don Juan, that my husband had so much goodness in him. **

**How hard would it be to draw that out more often in everyday life?**

**I wonder.**

**-Christine**


	31. Chapter 31

_Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera._

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Sue Raven who was my **100th reviewer!**YAY!

By the way, since I have too much going on at once, I have decided to prioritize the updates of my stories based on which one happens to get me the most reviews that week. This week, this story won. So, there you have it. Leave a note when you're finished reading. Thanks!!

**

* * *

Dear Journal,**

**We have a visitor. I do not know who it is, though. As soon as one of the alarm bells sounded, Erik locked me in my room. I had hoped that I might hear what was going on, but the walls down here are thick. Occasionally I can make out a raised voice, but I cannot tell if it is Erik's or the visitor's. Even if I knew, I am not able to distinguish anything they are saying beyond muffled sounds and vibrations. **

The one good outcome of the gendarmes' sloppy investigation of Count Philippe de Chagny's death was that the Persian had managed to spot another route through the cellars that circumvented both the lake _and_ the torture chamber.

Not that it particularly increased his chances of surviving this little adventure. Erik was sure to have traps set along each path. Still, if he had to meet his death, he decided he would prefer a gamble verses the surety of drowning or the surety of burning. Besides, perhaps he might even get a chance to speak to Erik this way rather than one of his automated trapping mechanisms.

It is with these cheerful thoughts that the daroga made his slow trek through the underground caverns.

After about an hour of careful steps, the Persian noticed a wall panel out of place. Without shifting his feet, he managed to pick up a stone and throw it onto the stair in front of him. Right on cue, the wall panel flew open and three sharp arrows came shooting through the open portal and stuck into the parallel wall.

The daroga, stressed and relieved by his narrow miss, took a moment to wipe his brow with his handkerchief.

As he looked up, he caught only the briefest glimpse of two yellow eyes before a rope was thrown over his head.

However, the detective had known never to let down his guard with a man such as Erik. Even as he had moved to replace his handkerchief, his other hand had remained at the level of his eyes.

Consequently, it took little effort for him to throw the deadly noose off.

As he freed his neck, another rope shot out from the darkness and tightened around his wrist. The Persian gasped and looked up into the yellow eyes that appeared to be moving closer.

"Well done, daroga!" praised a chilling voice, "For a moment, I was afraid you had lost your touch."

"I came to talk to you, Erik."

"You're memory is failing, old man, so I shall have to remind you… I told you never to come here again."

With each spoken word, the Persian felt a pull at his arm and took a reluctant step forward. By the time the menacing voice had finished speaking, the daroga found himself within arms reach of the Opera Ghost.

However, if anyone could appear fearless before the Living Corpse, it was the Persian. He had known the masked man before he was the Angel of Music, before he was the Opera Ghost… even before he was the Angel of Doom. The Persian had known Erik when he was just Erik.

That didn't really change anything, but the certainty of the masked man's capabilities inspired a sort of resignation in the daroga that allowed for a somewhat indifferent front in the face of sure peril.

For a moment, the two men stared at each other, silently challenging and sizing each other up. When it was clear that neither man would be intimidated, Erik was the first to break the silence.

"I suppose I should invite you inside, is that it?"

"I think it would be for the best, my friend."

**They have been talking for nearly an hour. I am frustrated with my lack of evesdropping skills and bored since, in Erik's haste to shut me away, I did not take any books or sewing in here with me. **

**And so I return to you, dear journal, to pass the time.**

"So, daroga," Erik asked while pouring the shorter man a cup of tea, "what trouble have you been digging up recently? Enjoying your retirement?"

The Persian took the cup and sat back comfortably in his chair. Two could play at this game.

"It's been frightfully dull, actually. I've thought about purchasing season tickets this year. Are there any Operas worth seeing this coming season?"

"I'm glad you asked, my friend…"

The two chatted amiably about the strengths and weaknesses of the upcoming Opera season (throughout this discussion, Erik never once brought up the soprano, Christine Daae. The daroga made a mental note of that observation for later examination.). Then they moved to discuss various other current events both local and global.

After a time, when the conversation began to lull, the Persian stared pensively into his teacup for a moment before speaking seriously.

"Erik, my friend," he sighed, "do you know why I have come."

Anger flashed across the man's eyes but he made no other outward sign of tension. He tented his fingers and said evenly, "I have an idea, but perhaps you should enlighten me."

The Persian knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he pressed on. _No going back, now!_

**It has been just under a week, but already we seem to have fallen into a sort of routine. **

**After breakfast we spend a few hours in the music room. Generally we have a music lesson and then Erik composes for a bit while I sit near him and work on some little project of my own (sewing, drawing, whatever I can think of to do quietly). **

**I don't know why, but I always picture this as an evening sort of activity. **

**I think I understand though. For a man who does not have a regular profession (besides the various ghostly activities he engages in), it brings a great feeling of normalcy to have a place to get up and go to in the morning. **

"Good morning, my darling girl. Did you enjoy your breakfast?"

"You know that I did." she teased, smiling. Part of her wished she had been the one to make breakfast for once but Erik, as always, had found a way to wake up before her and she had woken up to the smell of freshly baked muffins as he brought her a tray of delectable food directly to her bedside.

Christine had smiled genuinely. She had to admit it was a terribly romantic and thoughtful thing to do. Briefly she had wondered if Raoul would have been one to make such gestures. Somehow she doubted it.

Erik had reached over and caressed her cheek and Christine had leaned into his touch, wanting to show some sort of appreciation for his thoughtfulness.

The action had made Erik sigh and the look in his eyes told Christine that that was the greatest thanks she could have given him.

Still, Christine couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. She was the wife and she should be taking care of her husband. Normal marriage or not, that was how things were done and she felt like she wasn't living up to her expectations.

Had he even eaten at all? She was more than a little disturbed that she could not answer that question.

She asked him as much.

"I was not overly hungry, my dear, but you are so very kind to worry about me. Now, enough of that. What shall we sing today, hmm?"

Christine grinned, breakfast troubles forgotten, and moved over to the piano. Now that she was Erik's wife, he had taken to letting her choose her own music. It made her enjoy these lessons all the more.

**The afternoons are not particularly interesting. We generally spend that time doing various household chores. Erik cleans the kitchen while I wash the laundry. The rest of the dusting and sweeping we do together. It is not exactly the romanticized idea that one might have of living under an opera house, but it must all be done. At first, he was very much against the idea of my working around the house. But I am no stranger to hard work and its nice to have a purpose outside of being the object of a man's obsession. Besides, it is not as if Erik could go out and hire a bunch of servants. **

"Absolutely not, Christine!"

"But, Erik," she reasoned, "What would you have me do all day?"

"You may read or draw or do any number of things. Anything that makes you happy, my wife. Please, let me take care of you. I _want_ to take care of you."

"Am I your wife or your pet?" asked Christine in agitation.

"My wife! Of course! How could you even suggest such a thing?"

"And you want me to be happy?"

"Haven't I said that enough?"

"Erik, if you want your wife to be happy, at least let me help you. I can keep you company. It'll go twice as fast and housework is always more fun when someone else does it with you."

"Do you promise to tell me if you get tired at all?"

_Ah yes. Because I cannot pick up a dishrag without needing a nap afterwards. _"Of course."

"Then I suppose you may help. But only if you feel up to it."

"I understand."

**At some point each day it will occur to Erik that he needs to go take a 'walk'. When that happens, he drops whatever he is doing and leaves. I still do not know where he goes. Furthermore, I haven't the slightest idea of what happens while he is there to bring him back in such a frantic, bad temper. **

"How's the wife, monster?" Raoul croaked.

"Mind your tongue, you insolent boy, or I just may remove it." he said, tossing a pail of water at the young man's feet.

"Mind your wife's tongue, beast. I know for a fact she can do some wicked things with it. Or has she not shown you? No, I suppose not. Who would want to kiss a creature like you? Do you even have lips?"

Erik pounced on the younger man and beat him with his bare hands for several minutes. Raoul groaned and struggled, but he was no match for the masked man. When he slumped to the side and stopped resisting, Erik rose to his feet and looked contemptuously at the boy.

"Choose your words wisely, boy." he growled as he turned to leave.

"She hates you, you know," he whispered, throat too dry and sore to speak, "When I get out of here, she's going to leave you. Even if you kill me, she'll eventually find a way to leave you. She betrayed you once… what makes you think she wouldn't do it again? No one could love something like you. You are a monster and that beautiful, innocent woman can never feel anything more than pity for you."

Erik gave Raoul a swift kick in the head, effectively knocking him unconscious. He noticed that, in their earlier struggle, one of them had tipped over the water bucket. Erik shook his head and chuckled softly. _The boy will just have to wait until tomorrow. Maybe that will teach him not to speak thus._

In all honesty, Erik was not sure why he didn't just kill him and be done with it. It was definitely a greater hassle to keep him here. He couldn't do it, though, just as he could not let him go.

He needed assurance. Something to hold over Christine's head in the event she did leave him.

Because somewhere, in the back of his twisted mind, he knew the boy had spoken the truth.

**I have learned now to wait patiently by the door for his return so that he does not go tearing through the house like a mad bull trying to find me. I do not know what to make of all this. Each time he returns, he seems genuinely surprised to see me. It is as if each day he encounters some reminder of why he should not trust me. It unnerves me not knowing what is going on. **

"CHRISTINE!" he bellowed, throwing open the door. During the walk back to the apartment, he had dwelt on his dark thoughts. Now, as he entered his eyes were wild and he was frantic to convince himself that Christine was real and alive and still with him.

Christine, for her part, had just managed to jump out of the way of the door as he threw it open. _Wouldn't that be just perfect? Be waiting by the door just so he can smack you in the head with it. With your luck he'd accuse you of trying to kill yourself… and you _do not_ want to go down that road again!_

"I'm here, Erik." she answered immediately. She raised her arms ever so slightly to accept the desperate embrace she knew she was about to receive. It was best not to fight it, that she knew. For some reason, he needed assurance.

Again, when he pulled back he looked at her intently. She tried not to flinch at his piercing gaze. He was gasping and shuddering like a dying man. She could tell he was weeping.

"You are here…" he whispered in amazement.

"Yes, Erik. I never left."

"Don't go." he plead, sounding like a child waking from a nightmare.

"Never."

**I wonder if it has something to do with this visitor today. **

"What became of Christine Daae?"

"She is gone." he said gravely.

"What have you done to her?"

"Why would you assume that I have done something?" he snarled.

Honestly, the daroga half expected him to strangle him on the spot. He never really believed he'd make it this far into the conversation. The fact that he was still standing encouraged him greatly.

Raising his hands in a placatory gesture and said calmly, "Forgive me, Erik, I just need to hear the words. Did you harm Mlle. Daae in any way?"

"NO! Don't you _ever_ accuse me of… of… I would _never _harm a hair on that child's head!" he shouted as he lunged forward in his chair, clenching his fists to keep from killing his old friend for the presumption.

"Are you holding her captive here?" the Persian asked boldly, knowing he was pushing his luck.

Erik took a long breath and sat back down. Calmly and evenly he ground out, "I assure you, Monsieur, that there is no one by the name of Daae in this house."

"And what of the vicomte?"

"What matter is that _boy_ to me that I should care what becomes of him?"

**I wonder what is taking them so long. **

Christine took a pause from her writing to lean her ear once again to the door. She couldn't hear anything distinguishable so she knocked on the side of her door. She could have picked the lock as she did once before and let herself out, but she thought it more prudent to, rather than show up unannounced, give Erik a friendly reminder that she was still stuck in her room.

"Erik!" she called, giving the wall a good pound with her hand, "Can I come out yet?"

She heard the room grow eerily silent for a brief moment before the muffled talking began again.

**Has Erik forgotten I'm in here?**

"I want to trust you, my friend, I truly do. But it is so hard to believe---"

"that I'm not the monster you think I am?" the masked man interrupted dryly.

"I didn't say that. It's just---"

Again the detective was cut off. This time, though, it was by a faint knocking down the hall.

"What was that?" he asked suspiciously.

Erik paused, rage making his head pound. _What is she doing? Does she think she can escape me? _

"It is nothing of consequence, daroga. Now, I believe this interrogation is over."

"How can you say that, Erik? I heard a voice and I know you heard it to! Who are you hiding here? Is it Mlle. Daae?"

"I _assure_ you that it is not. _There is no Mlle. Daae_. Perhaps the voice you're hearing belongs to my _wife_."

There was a hint of a smirk in the man's irritated voice. The Persian gasped, "Erik, you didn't!"

"Didn't what? Force the child to marry me? Of course not, I am not so wicked. She agreed to it."

"But you cannot---"

"Cannot what? Have a wife? Live as a normal man? Be granted a _shred of happiness _in my miserable existence?"

"What have you done to her? I swear, Erik, that if you have harmed her in any way---"

"You'll what? Never," he growled dangerously, "make the mistake of accusing me of that. I would _never_ harm my wife!"

"If you have not hurt her, let me see her and ask her if she is here willingly."

"I'm afraid that is impossible."

"Why?"

"Because my wife is… apprehensive… around strangers. Now, I really must insist that you leave."

"I will give you two weeks, Erik. Two weeks to prepare your _wife_ for my return. I will come back and I expect to see her in good health."

"If you come back, daroga, I will kill you. Do not underestimate what I will do to protect what is mine."

As the Persian left the flat, he thought on those parting words. He did not doubt that Erik meant what he said. But, in the end, it did not make a difference. He had a duty to this girl.

_And whatever became of the vicomte?_

**Evenings are generally relaxing. Sometimes we read together or play music. I have taken to sitting at his feet each night so he can play with my hair. **

**Sometimes we just talk--for a recluse, my husband is in excellent conversationalist when he wants to be. **

**On Sunday night we took a walk in the park. I do not think I have seen him happier. When I asked him about it he just shrugged and told me I would not understand. **

**Nights are… _different_ here. **

**I am not exactly sure what to say on that note. Our arrangement in the area of… married people activities (that shows how mature I am that I cannot bring myself to write the word!) is as follows: I will not deny him but I will trust him to wait until I am ready. **

**It is an agreement based on the mutual trust of people who had very little of it to offer. A compromise--gift of sorts--that cost each of us dearly, yet, brought our relationship to a different level. It is odd, I realize, but it works for us. **

**However, what makes night-time so very strange is the sleeping arrangement (as opposed to the… _non_-sleeping arrangement). **

**I thought we had agreed that we would both be sleeping in my bed. Erik does not deny this fact. In truth, he goes out of his way to appear to sleep with me. And yet, I know that he does not. **

Erik entered the bedroom to find that Christine had already fallen asleep. He sighed in relief. Nights like this were easier than the others. There were so many reasons why he could not bring himself to sleep beside her. But there is no way she would understand that.

Firstly, he thought it a grand mistake that a demon should be allowed to share a bed with an angel. She was so peaceful… so vulnerable… so perfect as she slept. He wondered how she could do it. He knew _he_ would not be sleeping if he knew another like him was in the same room. Heavens! He would not be sleeping if he knew another like him was in the _world_! Too dangerous… too… unsettling.

Furthermore, what was the likelihood that he would even get to sleep in such proximity to her? Just her mere presence set fire to his veins. His reactions had become so powerful lately that… well… he had recited the multiplication tables and the Apostle's Creed so many times now that they no longer helped. He had taken to memorizing long, tedious sections of various science textbooks. Actually sharing a bed with her… lying closely beside that sleeping form… possibly brushing up against her as she rolled over…

No.

As much as his arms ached to hold her while she slept, his rational mind protested against it.

At the same time, he could not bring himself to leave her. Perhaps he might catch a few minutes of precious sleep in the chair beside her. Those hours spent, resting by her bedside, feeling every bit the secret protector… that time was his only refuge against the nightmares that had begun to make him frightened to close his eyes. In a sense, then, she was also his protector. Here he could finally sleep fearlessly (if not peacefully).

**Each night he perches himself on the very edge of the bed but, as soon as he believes me to be asleep, gets up. In the morning he simply acts like he woke up before me. I wonder if he has even slept an hour since we married. I don't know why he does it. I think he might be afraid of me.**

Erik entered the bedroom to find Christine lying in bed, reading a book. He inwardly groaned. This was the most awkward and most wonderful time of his day. Nothing brought him more joy than to know that Christine was here, welcoming him into her room. At the same time, nothing brought him more feelings of trepidation.

She settled down into bed, extending her hand to him as he settled down over the covers beside her. When they were both comfortable (Erik less so), Christine grasped his bony hand in hers and snuggled further into her covers.

Erik smiled and panicked. He loved that she had begun to touch him willingly. Soft, casual touches. The type that most took for granted but that was precious to one like him. On occasion, he daydreamed about how wonderful it would be to kiss her on the lips, but he told himself constantly that this was only a dream. _Don't be greedy. Don't over think this. Just accept what she gives you and treasure it._

**I probably should not torment the poor man so. I cannot say exactly why I do what I do. It is kind of a sick game I enjoy. **

When her breathing became slow and regular, Erik tried to disengage her hand from his.

Christine, not quite asleep and feeling mischievous, grasped onto him tighter and even rolled so that her other arm was wrapped around his arm as she cuddled against it.

She couldn't help but smile as she felt his clammy skin heat up through his nightclothes as a fierce blush spread over his whole body. His breath sped up and she felt his head turning frantically from side to side as if looking for help somewhere in the room.

**It is not unlike how, when we were kids, Raoul used to tug on my pigtails. He did it to get a reaction. That is why I do it. **

After two or three long minutes, she decided to put him out of his misery. With a sigh, she rolled over and actually drifted off to sleep.

However, this was not before she noticed when he released the breath he had been holding and not before she noticed how he quietly rose from the bed and took his place as sentinel in the chair beside her.

Despite what Erik thought, Christine was a light sleeper. Consequently, in the morning she was aware when he rose and left hours before she usually woke.

She was also not oblivious to the big show he made each morning about how he had definitely _not_ left the bed all night.

Christine shook her head. No one, not even Erik, could go without sleep indefinitely. Sooner or later, they'd have to have a talk. Until then, he could play his games and she'd play hers.

**Oh, Raoul! I cannot believe this is the first time I have thought of him today. It's probably for the best, though. I'm sure that he is better off wherever he is. I just wish I could forget him so easily. But, no, I must nurse my broken heart in silence while he is free to live his life and find a new love. **

**Stop. No time for bitterness. I must think positively. Besides, I think I hear Erik returning.**

**Until next time,**

**Christine**


	32. Chapter 32

**Dear Journal,**

**If I have learned nothing else over the last year, I have learned how a situation can completely change in a matter of hours. **

Erik had not completely escorted the daroga out of the cellars. He was so irritated with his Persian friend that he simply commanded that he get out of his sight. No doubt part of him expected the man to walk into one of his traps and get himself killed.

The daroga, however, was not so careless. His conversation with the masked man had left him greatly perturbed. As he slowly and cautiously made his way through the tunnels, his mind reeled with the possibilities of what his friend could have done to the vicomte and Mlle. Daae.

_His wife?_ he shuddered. What hell must that poor girl be going through? Each time he thought he had experienced the extent of the man's madness, he found himself profoundly mistaken.

He shook his head gravely. _I should have let him die in Persia,_ he thought bitterly. He knew it was a terrible thought, to regret saving a man's life. But he couldn't help it. He had believed in Erik… truly thought there could be some good in the man's black heart. He had done everything to make the man--who was barely more than a boy at the time--see that he was not the evil monster he was brought up to be.

But didn't he have every right to be bitter? He felt betrayed. He had given up everything for Erik. To save this man's life he had had to sacrifice his own!

He had been the one to bring him to Persia in the first place. The shah had sent him to Russia to seek out a magician like no other. You see, even by the time Erik was a teenager, his fame had spread through fairs and carnivals all over the world. The daroga had still been a young man at the time, with a wife and small children at home, and he was loath to leave them on some whim of the shah. However, there was no arguing with him… or, more correctly, his mother--the sultana.

Erik's genius really was as astounding as the rumors portrayed, but the daroga had been shocked by the young man's blatant disregard for morality and seemingly total lack of compassion.

The sultana, on the other hand, rejoiced in the fact. She was a cold woman with a cruel and macabre sense of entertainment. She reveled in the idea that she had her own personal killer at her disposal. A corpse, nonetheless! A dead man who dealt out death to others. The evil woman had thoroughly enjoyed her new pet.

As the daroga got to know the masked man, he began to see much more in him than a magician and assassin. For one thing, the boy seemed to have an appreciation for architecture. He spoke to the shah on his behalf and was able to gain him a position as the court architect so that he might be not be left to his own devices when his presence before the queen was not required.

After a few years it became clear that Erik was the finest architect that Persia--if not the world--had ever seen. The daroga had taken pride in the care the youth took in his creation. Years of abuse at the fault of his face had made the man hardened and destructive. To see the joy in the young man's eyes (though the rest of his countenance was unreadable) for a triumph that was neither cheapened or praised on account of his face… it was enough to convince the daroga that Erik had kept hold of his humanity, however hidden by bitterness.

When the sultana had grown bored with Erik's tricks with the Punjab lasso, she petitioned the shah to have him build a new palace--full of hidden chambers and trap doors (of which the shah had developed an almost paranoid obsession) and a revolutionary type of torture chamber (that she may entertain herself in Erik's absence).

The daroga frowned upon this new commission, but was in no position to speak against the shah. Instead he offered his help and support to Erik, who had begun to trust and confide in him. Truthfully--and Erik would grudgingly agree to this--the Persian had been the closest thing to a friend that he had ever known.

The palace was magnificent, as the daroga had expected, and both the shah and the sultana were pleased. The shah's reaction, however, was unexpected to both he and Erik. The shah, an arrogant and ambitious man, had not wanted to risk the chance of his genius architect designing a building of such splendor for another king. He had, therefore, ordered that Erik be blinded and later--upon reconsideration--killed.

The Persian shuddered at the memory. It had been his assignment, as chief of police, to carry out the grisly order. But he could not do it! He had seen so much potential for good in Erik… to deprive the world of such a genius was akin to smashing a stained-glass window.

So, instead he had helped Erik escape, making the man promise to give up his life of murder and destruction and seek one of beauty and creation.

Oh but that decision had cost him dearly!

The shah was furious to know that the daroga had failed his mission. His wife, whom he adored, and his children were tortured and killed before his eyes. Such--as the sultana had sneered--was the price of failure.

Indeed, the daroga himself would have been killed in short order had not a corpse washed up on shore of similar build and height as Erik. The body had been so picked apart by birds that it was impossible to say how long it had been there… and the face surely compared well enough.

He had been exiled instead. Though he had a small pension allotted to him because of his status and heritage, he was sent away from Persia, never to return.

He sighed. In truth, especially on days like today, parts of him wished he had died back in Persia. Then he would be peacefully reunited with the family he loved, never knowing the great mistake that his sacrifice had been.

He leaned against a wall and slid down to the ground, suddenly unable to hold his own weight. Years ago he might have wept, but no longer. Broken as he was, he no longer had any tears left. Instead he looked up into the darkness and said aloud, "Why, Erik? What have you done?"

The last thing he expected was a response. So, naturally, he was quite troubled when he heard a pained groan echoing in the corridor.

"Hello?" it said weakly, "Is someone out there?"

**If you asked me this morning how I would be spending my evening, I might have made some remark about supper or the evening stroll we had planned. And yet, as I write this, I am sitting by my husband's bedside, waiting and hoping that he will wake up. **

"Hello?" the daroga called, "It is the Persian... M. de Chagny? Is that you?"

There was a cry of relief followed by a pause in which the speaker seemed to be gasping for breath.

"Are you harmed, monsieur?"

"I have felt better," Raoul answered honestly. "Please, is the creature around? Can you help me?"

The daroga looked around skeptically, wondering if this was not Erik playing some sort of trick on him. After a brief moment of thought, he realized he did not have the luxury of speculation. He would have to treat this as if it were really Raoul de Chagny calling for help and deal with the consequences if it was not.

He carefully made his way to through the Communard's dungeons and found the cell that appeared to be in use. He peered in but could see little with the shadow cast by his lantern.

"Can you come to the window, M. de Chagny?"

"I cannot. I am chained, I'm afraid, but not tightly so… just my ankle is fastened. Do you have a knife you can pass me? I think I might be able to work the lock."

"Yes, be careful… catch," he said, "you work at your bonds and I'll see if I can't open this door."

**I know not what happened. After his company left, he decided to go out into the cellars again to do whatever it is he does there each night. **

The two worked in silence for several minutes and the daroga had extinguished his lantern in case Erik should approach.

It seemed, though, that Raoul was having a great deal more luck with his chains than the daroga was having with the heavily locked door. He looked up to wipe his brow and held back a gasp of surprise when he saw two yellow eyes in the distance.

"He approaches, de Chagny," he whispered frantically before dodging behind a wall. The last thing either of them needed right now was for Erik to find them here.

**He was slightly irked at me for the noise I made while his friend was here, so I thought it best to give him space. **

Erik cursed at nothing in particular as he swept through the corridors. He wasn't angry with Christine. She hadn't meant any harm. He was afraid, though, that he'd snap at her in his temper and he really did not have the ability to deal with her tears at the moment.

He wasn't really angry with the daroga either. It irritated him to no end that the man could not just accept that a woman could love him and be with him of her own free will. Still… he was right. As much as he hated the fact, he knew that Christine did not love him. She had been such a good girl… so sweet and determined to have a happy marriage with a cantankerous old bat. At the same time, he knew that she would run off with the vicomte in a heartbeat if she were given the opportunity.

_The vicomte._ Erik growled when he thought of him. Oddly enough, though, Erik wasn't even angry with Raoul. Surely, he hated the boy. But, when all was said and done, the boy had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Then why was he so mad? Perhaps it was just the situation… perhaps he was just frustrated and tired of being a monster. Maybe it was that he was weary and only wanted to live as a normal man, and yet, was constantly reminded that it could never be.

He was so absorbed in his dark thoughts that he was not paying nearly enough attention to his surroundings as he should have been. Why would he? No one ever came down here.

**I took a nap. Odd, I know, but I think Erik has me in the habit now. Anyway, I had that dream again. It is the same one I had before my wedding… though I remember more and more of it each time. **

"Wake up, boy!" he called as he threw open the door to the cell. He was not going to beat or torment the lad… not today. He was too tired. He just wanted to give him his food and go back home. He looked forward to relaxing with his wife.

However, Raoul did not respond to his call. Instead, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"What have you done, Erik?"

"Daroga!" he snarled, "I told you to leave!"

"You know I can't do that, Erik. Let the boy go. Let Christine go."

"Never!" he roared, whipping around, "You shall not have her! She is _mine_ and I will never---"

Erik stopped and his glowing eyes grew wide with pain and fury as Raoul plunged his knife into his shoulder. He turned back around, deftly twisting his lasso to throw and strangle the boy. Before he could throw the rope, however, the daroga grabbed his upper arm hard and jerked him backward.

"Erik, don't do this." he whispered.

Raoul, on the other hand, was in no mood for discussion. He flew at the masked man, knife in hand, and flailed it wildly, cutting and stabbing whatever he could come in contact with.

"Go back to Hell where you belong, demon!" he hissed.

The daroga tried to step between the two and earned a fist in the jaw for his trouble.

Erik staggered a bit but managed to backhand Raoul across the face before he collapsed. Raoul, greatly weakened from his ordeal and from the sudden exertion, was easily knocked unconscious by the blow.

The Persian stood there for a moment, looking between his bleeding friend and his unconscious captive, warring with himself. It was impossible to tell whose condition was more dire. Erik was seriously injured, but after days of abuse and neglect, Raoul was no better off. _No!_ he realized, _I'll have no more innocent blood on my hands. This must end now, Erik._

He carefully lifted the vicomte under his arm and leaned him against his shoulder. The boy began to rouse so at least the daroga was not dragging a completely dead weight.

As he helped the injured man out of the cell, he heard Erik rasp, "I will kill you for this, daroga."

The Persian shook his head and chuckled, his voice vibrating with bitterness. "I have no doubt of it, my friend. When I return, I shall be taking the girl with me. After both these children are safe, you can feel free to cut my throat with my blessing."

As he continued on his journey out of the cellars, an inhuman moan could be heard all around. Both the daroga and the vicomte fought to cover their ears, so unbearable was the cry…

"Christine…" Erik sobbed, "Oh, Christine…"

**I woke up and expected to see Erik beside me. He always is whenever I have nightmares. He seems to somehow, instinctively, know when I am distressed. **

He had to get to her… he just had to. He had lost so much blood that he struggled to stand. Walking… moving… it was agony, but he had to reach her. Each time he stumbled, he called out her name--not with any expectation that she would hear him… but, just willing her to know that he loved her and was trying to get to her.

**But he was not there. I saw that he had been gone nearly two hours and I started to worry. I know I am not supposed to leave the house. It is dangerous and I don't know his traps. I imagine that if… when… Erik wakes up he will tell me as much. Still, I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I should go and find him. **

**I am glad I did. **

_So close…_ he thought. He could see the door. There was a light on under it. She was waiting for him… waiting to go on their walk together. _She is such a wonderful girl. _

Each step was heavier. Each moment was a greater struggle to stay awake.

"Christine…" he whispered.

The door swung open and she saw him just as he fell to his knees.

"Erik!" she cried, running to him.

She seemed torn between embracing him tightly and withholding her touch, lest she hurt him. In the end she compromised, placing her hands on either side of his face and forcing him to focus on her eyes.

_Those eyes._ They had tears in them… even in the dark he could see the concern written across her face. _Why would she worry for me? Could she care? Maybe, even a little?_

"You were not meant to see this…" he sighed.

"Is that all you can say?" she sputtered, "Come inside, Erik. Lets get you into bed."

She helped him up and together they walked, with tottering steps, down the hallway to the bedroom. But before she could turn to her bedroom, he stopped her.

"coffin." he rasped, shaking his head.

**He insisted on sleeping in his coffin. I still find it unnerving that that is the place he retreats to. But, if that is where he is most comfortable, I'll swallow my own skittishness and go to him. **

Christine reached her hands up to remove the mask and Erik caught her wrists.

"No." he whispered.

"Shh." she soothed, cupping his face in her hands. "It's okay, dear heart, I need to see so I can help."

They both paused, equally shocked by how easily the endearment had slipped in. _Dear heart?_

Christine would have blushed but the emotion of the whole ordeal thus far had left her unhealthily pale--save her nose, which was red from the tears she had been holding back.

Erik slowly relaxed his grip and allowed her to untie the mask and slip it from his face. She did not gasp or shy away, she was so caught up in what she was doing that she noticed at all.

Next she moved to unbutton his shirt, which had become sticky with blood. Again Erik resisted.

"No, Christine. You do not need to do this. Go to your room. I will take care of myself as I always have."

Something about the forlorn way he said that made her heart lurch. On impulse she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips. He stiffened and she pulled away.

"No longer, Erik. You are not alone any longer. You have a wife and she wants to take care of you."

At this profession, the floodgates opened for both of them and they each wept freely. Had this happened in another moment, Christine would have liked nothing more than to crawl up into his lap and be held. However, there was no time for that. Erik needed medical attention immediately.

As he wept, Erik allowed Christine to unbutton and remove his shirt, all the while murmuring soothing words in his ear.

Christine gasped when she saw the damage that had been done. She did not give Erik a chance to protest again, though, before she quickly and efficiently began dressing and stitching the worst of the knife wounds. She saw his eyes rolling back and his thin form begin to waver and realized he had been fighting to stay conscious. She quickly cleaned the wounds on his back and helped him into the coffin. He fell asleep shortly after that. For her part, it was just as well, since it meant she could attend to the wounds on his chest and shoulders much easier with him immobile.

When she had finished, Christine covered him with the quilt from her bed and kissed his forehead. Then she knelt by the coffin and wept.

"Oh Erik…" she sobbed, "don't do this to me. Please be okay. I can't… I can't lose you…"

**I have done everything I can think of to do for him, short of fetching a doctor--which is not currently an option. I'm lucky to have had at least some practice with caring for injuries. I remember how the little boys of the ballet used to come seek me out for help with their cuts and scraps as I was the least likely to scold them for their foolishness. Erik's injuries are immeasurably worse… but at least the basic concepts are the same. **

**There is nothing more to do now than wait and pray.**

**I find myself reflecting, as I sit here beside him, on how my feelings have changed recently. I am terrified I will lose him tonight. The fact that I almost lost him already frightens me as well. **

**It is not the fear of being down here alone. That thought unsettles me, but I will survive as I always have. I can't explain this fear--this _desperation_. I just cannot think of the possibility of his death. **

**I cannot think of it. It is too painful. No. He will live. Everything will be as it should be. **

**How long have I been sitting here, watching him?**

**What is this feeling? I care for him, that much is certain. We have gotten along so well lately. I have grown to truly enjoy his company. I had truly begun to hope for the possibility of a happy life together. **

**Am I in love? I do not believe so for I am in love with Raoul and this feels entirely different. Maybe I am just used to Erik. As strange as it is, it is a possibility. I believe I am… comfortable… with him. I must speak to Mamma, she will know what to do. **

**I wish my father was here. Or Mamma Valerius. They could help me sort this out. Perhaps I can arrange a visit to see Mamma soon. When Erik gets better. **

**Erik. Oh Erik! Please get better. I promise that if you live through this I will be yours forever and never wish for anything else. **

**I'll do anything. Please wake up.**

Christine was startled from her frantic writing when she heard a bell. It was the alarm…the doorbell. She debated with herself whether or not she should answer it. Realizing that the intruder was unlikely to go away, she rose from Erik's bedside and squeezed his hand affectionately.

"I'll be back, dear one." she murmured.

She opened the door to a tall, dark skinned man who looked like he'd seen better days.

"Christine Daae?" he asked

"Yes…" she said warily.

"I am so glad you are safe. May I come in?"

**Christine**

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Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! You guys are super. If you don't remember what dream she is talking about, see Chapter 29. Also, if you have not yet checked out my other EC story, you should. It is called The Goblin Monk and is a crossover with the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Go read it if you get a minute. Anyway, thanks for reading and thanks ahead of time for reviewing (hint, hint)!!! 


	33. Chapter 33

_Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera._

Past The Point of Sanity: Actually, you had a lot to do with it. You brought up an interesting point and it got me to thinking. Anyway, I'm glad you reviewed. **

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**Dear Journal,**

**A visitor came to the house. He brought a shocking bit of news.**

At first Christine was hesitant to allow someone into their home while Erik was incapacitated. Erik would be furious, that was certain, but that thought alone was not the source of her reluctance. It just seemed like common sense. She was alone in this house and her one protector had been mysteriously attacked. _It's settled then,_ she thought, _inviting him in would be a _bad_ idea. _

"And you are _sure_ you are a friend of Erik's?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

She didn't mean to be cruel, but her husband was not known for his many friends.

Then again, this man did look awfully familiar… not to mention Erik had just entertained a visitor before he had left for the tunnels.

This man obviously had to know about Erik. One did not just _stumble_ across this little house. It was nearly impossible to find unless one already knew where it was. Besides, how had he managed to bypass all the traps?

The Persian could practically see the wheels turning in the girl's head and thought he'd help explain.

"Surely, mademoiselle, you remember me? You saved my life not many days ago."

"It's _madame_ now," she said absently, causing the Persian to gasp slightly at her admission. He had been testing her, in a way, to see if Erik had been telling the truth about their marriage.

Christine's eyes widened suddenly in realization. "You were the other man in the mirrored chamber that night!"

"Yes, madame," he said bowing slightly. "I have known Erik for many years. That is how I knew where to lead M. de Chagny when you disappeared. As you can see, madame, I mean you no harm. I only wish to speak with you. It is about M. de Chagny."

**I don't know where to begin. I feel this swarm of conflicting emotions clouding my thoughts and I'm not sure what to do. **

Christine backed away from the door and signaled the Persian to enter.

"So tell me, monsieur, how is Raoul? Have you spoken to him recently?"

The daroga paled. "You mean you don't know?"

"What are you talking about? Of course I don't know. I haven't seen him since you were both released that night. Why are you looking at me that way? Is something wrong? Did something happen to him?"

He started to speak but then closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to sort his thoughts. "I'm sorry. First things first. Have you seen you _husband_?"

Now it was Christine's turn to grow pale. She was not going to mention her husband's condition until she knew how much he knew. Just a precaution.

"I have seen him. Why?"

He sighed. "I mean have you seen him recently? I'm sorry to have to be the one to inform you of this, but there has been an accident."

Christine's face was expressionless. The Persian decided to take a chance. "Madame… Christine… please, if you know where Erik is, you must take me to him. I swear to you that I will not harm him in any way. There is much that needs to be explained."

She sighed and stood, motioning for the daroga to follow.

**I feel confused.**

Christine moved to a comfortable chair and the daroga found a seat on the sofa. She folded her hands, looked him in the eye and asked him, "Please, monsieur, you must tell me what is going on. Why have you come?"

"I have come to take you away from this place, if that is what you wish."

Her brows furrowed in thought. "Why you? Why now? What has happened to Raoul?"

The daroga took a deep breath and wondered where he should start. It was clear this girl was completely oblivious of everything that occurred since _that night_. He fervently wished that he did not have to be the one to explain this to her.

"Madame, I am sorry to inform you that Erik did not release M. de Chagny as you believe."

**Betrayed **

Christine grew even paler, if possible, and her thoughts flickered to her sleeping husband before returning to the daroga's story.

He continued. "When I recovered somewhat from the ordeal, I spoke with the police. You see there was still an investigation in progress because of the death of the elder Chagny brother, the count."

"Philippe is dead?" she gasped.

"I'm afraid so, madame. As I was saying, I spoke with the police and they assured me that you and the vicomte had eloped together in all the commotion. I was doubtful, having known Erik for quite some time, and decided to investigate myself. I came to visit earlier today and spoke at length with Erik, gathering what information I could about your whereabouts. I was not quite sure what to make of it when he informed me of your marriage. In fact, I scarcely believed it until you just confirmed it a few minutes ago."

"Yes," she said softly, "at the time I had little choice in the matter…"

"I expected as much. Ah, but I digress. You see, it was by accident that I learned that M. de Chagny was still being held captive in the cellars. As I made my way back to the surface, I seemed to have stumbled upon the cell where he had been kept. Erik, it seems, had decided to lock him away in the Communard's dungeons. I cannot say for certain why… but I have a few theories."

**Hurt**

"Oh Erik… how could you?" Christine whispered brokenly--more to herself than anyone else.

"Erik approached us just as I was working to free M. de Chagny from his cell. The two men fought. In his weakened state, the vicomte was no match for Erik, but he managed to inflict some pretty damaging wounds before he collapsed. When they both fell to the ground, I took Chagny and brought him back up to the surface with me. Erik, it seems, found his way back to you…"

Christine was torn. She was grateful the daroga had taken care of Raoul. At the same time, she found herself upset by the fact that he would leave his own friend alone and wounded.

_Think logically, Christine. What would you have done? You could only help one… both were seriously injured. Don't presume to criticize him for a decision you would not have been able to make. Besides, what's done is done. Erik is here safely with you and Raoul is…_

"Excuse me, sir, but where is Raoul?"

"The vicomte is currently under the care of some of the finest doctors in Paris."

"I'm relieved. He will be alright then?"

**Angry**

"I will not lie to you, madame. He is very sick. Aside from his current injuries--which are impressive in and of themselves--he has numerous cuts and wounds that have become infected. It is likely they were given to him sometime recently but he did not have adequate resources to clean them. Unfortunately, he is very weak right now from the conditions of his captivity and that is going to make it very difficult to fight the infection. Fortunately, I found him when I did. The doctors believe that he will pull through but we won't know for certain until he wakes up. From what they have told me, they wish to keep him sedated for a while to help with the healing process. Then, well… we'll just have to see…"

"Oh Raoul…"

"I am here to take you to him, if you wish."

"I---" she cut herself off, realizing something, "What about Erik?"

**And something else I cannot explain. **

Looking down into the casket, the daroga murmured a quick prayer. It was an odd sight, really, watching him sleep. He had to force himself not to grimace. Erik's mask and shirt had been removed and he truly did look like a corpse. Actually the sight would not have been so bad if he were truly dead. However, the slight movements of breath and pulse through the body made the sight gruesome. Even a minor movement, performed by a corpse, can fill the watcher with horror.

Still, the daroga was surprised to see that a soft quilt had been lovingly tucked around him. He looked toward Christine, who had knelt beside the coffin and was gently stroking thin wisps of hair away from his dead face while her other hand gently held onto his. The scene intrigued and confused him, but he decided not to mention it just yet.

"How long has he been like this?"

"I found him over four hours ago... but who knows how long it took him to come here."

"You tended to his injuries?"

"I did what I could. I believe he's alright for the moment, but soon he will need fresh bandages and supplies."

He nodded. "I can arrange for that."

**I do not believe I have ever faced a more difficult decision. Not even _that night_. **

**Actually, in retrospect, _that_ was a very easy decision. It was obvious and pretty much made itself. **

"Monsieur, I don't think I can leave him."

"Madame… I know that you are here against your will. However, _you_ must realize that he will never let you go of his own volition. I am willing to help you escape. I will deliver you to M. de Chagny and you will finally be free. But you must decide now. When he wakes up… there are no guarantees that you will have a second chance."

**This however… **

**Erik or Raoul? The choice was entirely mine. Nobody was threatening me and there were no ultimatums.**

**I am still in love with Raoul. Yet, part of me is very connected to Erik. Not to mention, he is my husband. But look at our marriage! It was forced. If not for this incident I would still be a captive. He almost killed the man I love! **

**Well, I suppose they almost killed _each other_. **

**I tried to think it through practically. **

"And you say that Raoul is still unconscious?"

"Yes, but I'm sure he will be happy to see you when he awakens."

"I do wish to speak with him…" she shook her head and said, "No. I can't go now. Raoul is safe and he's in good hands. There is nothing I can do now to help him. But Erik… he has nobody."

"I assure you, madame, that Erik has endured far worse without anyone by his side."

"I know it and it saddens me. It should not be that way. No, I'm sorry, I must take my chances here. I am his wife. At the very least, I think he deserves a chance to tell his side of the story."

The Persian nodded. So far, he had found Christine to be a very noble and dedicated young woman. There was a sense of maturity in her that he had not noticed before. He realized that he was developing a great deal of respect for her.

"I understand. In that case, I am here offer you any help you require."

"Will you keep me updated on Raoul's condition?"

"Of course"

"Thank you. I should like to speak with him when he wakes up…"

"I do not know if that will be possible, but I will do what I can to help."

"And you will bring me some medical supplies?"

"Provide me with a list and I shall return tomorrow."

Suddenly Erik groaned and his breathing became labored. While he was still sleeping, it appeared that he was in a great deal of pain.

Christine burst into tears. She had remained composed during the whole conversation, thus far. All of the news was so shocking and overwhelming that she couldn't seem to process it all fast enough to feel emotional about it. However, seeing Erik in such pain seemed to bring everything to the surface and open the flood gates. Somehow seeing him like this brought reality to her conflict.

**Erik needs me, Raoul doesn't. It is not exactly that simple, but it will have to do for now. **

The Persian cleared his throat nervously. He never knew quite what to do with emotional females. He usually just left them to cry with the other women. He was not good with tears.

Needing to feel useful, he went to one of Erik's hidden shelves and rifled through the bottles inside. After a moment of searching, he brought forth a little vial of medicine.

"Here," he said, handing it to Christine, "Get him to drink a sip of this. It will ease the pain and help him sleep."

She looked at it skeptically. "What is it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Honestly, I have no idea. Erik mixes his own concoctions of herbs and medicines. I'm not sure what they are made of, exactly, but I know from experience that they work better than anything a doctor could prescribe."

Christine felt herself smiling slightly. Erik truly was a genius. Part of her felt extremely proud that her husband could create something like that. She put the vial to his lips and lifted his head slightly.

"Christine…" he moaned softly.

"Shh, I'm here. Drink this, dear heart, it will help you feel better."

**Why did Erik do it? Why did he imprison Raoul when I thought our marriage had freed him? **

The daroga watched the entire exchange in disbelief. The way she willingly touched him, unmasked, and whispered gentle words to him… there was more at work here than a kidnapped girl being fought over by two men. He realized that their situation was a little more complicated than he thought previously. _Leave it to Erik to make things difficult…_

He quickly got the impression that he was somehow encroaching on something very intimate. Quietly, he stood and excused himself.

However, before he stepped through the doorway, he turned and asked once more, "Madame, are you sure this is what you want? You may not get another opportunity like this."

He just needed to be certain.

Christine frowned slightly, thinking. "No, to be honest, I am not sure at all. But I think I'm going to stay for now anyway…"

"As you wish." he said solemnly and let himself out of the house.

**I have found that Erik has reasons for almost everything he does. Granted, the reasons toe the line between rational and insane. But still, I think I owe it to him to give him the chance to explain himself.**

**But _why_ do I owe him? I never wanted to be here. He totally disregarded my wishes. I do not owe him anything.**

**For some reason, I do not think I can convince myself of that. **

**Maybe I am the one bordering on madness?**

**I suppose I should stop this arguing with myself. The decision has been made and I cannot change it currently. I must focus on the task at hand. I will help Erik heal and I will wait to hear about Raoul's condition. **

**I cannot talk to either of them until they wake up, anyway. **

**I could always talk to myself. **

**I cannot believe I just suggested that--in writing, nonetheless! It is settled. The line has been crossed. I must be insane. **

**--Christine**

* * *

Author's Note: Well, there you have it. She stayed. Okay so between the reviews and PMs, I got this overwhelming response from people who didn't want Christine to leave with the daroga. So, I decided to rework some things and change directions. There will still be some conflicts coming up... but, for now, she is staying with Erik. I hope you guys are happy. See why it's good to review? I totally listen! 


	34. Chapter 34

**Journal,**

**Erik has not awoken yet. Well, I take that back, occasionally I have found him half-awake. Conscious enough that I can feed him and not so much that he can protest the action. It is a small blessing that I am utterly thankful for. **

_Who is this? An angel? _

_Why can I not see anything?_

_Ah. She touches me! Soft hands… so gentle… _

_She is touching my face. My mask! Where is my mask?_

"Shh… Erik, it is okay. Do not move, you'll injure yourself. There, dear one, I am here…"

…_soft words, too… words of love… dear one? Is that what she calls me?… her voice is sublime._

_Who is this? Christine?_

_No, it cannot be her. Christine hates me… I am keeping her against her will. Why am I doing that? Oh yes, because she hates me. _

"You cannot have her." he rasped, grabbing the angel's arm roughly in his hand, "I will not let her leave. Christine is Erik's. He cannot live without her!"

She hissed and tried to pull away, but he only tightened his hold. "Erik!" she cried, "This _is_ Christine… this is your wife. I am here. You are hurting me… please let me go."

_Christine! It is her! How can that be?_

"I will _never_ let you go." he whispered harshly--but he did slacken his grip and she wriggled free.

**From what I've gathered, Erik thinks he is dying. It would be funny if it weren't so very sad. **

Christine tied another fresh bandage over Erik's chest. Cleaning out wounds was her least favorite part of playing nursemaid. She wasn't particularly squeamish--not compared to those other women who faint at the sight of blood--but the sight of his mangled skin oozing blood and the hiss of his pain as she cleaned and disinfected tender spots was difficult to bear.

An infection, though, would be even worse to manage. Besides, she was not about to let her husband die because she was too weak to take care of him. What kind of woman would that make her?

No. That would not do at all.

Once the new dressing was secure, she moved the quilt back over him. Christine was not sure if it did anything to keep him warm (despite all her best efforts, he skin was still cold), but she knew that Erik would not like to be so exposed, so she kept him covered.

As she did this, his eyes fluttered open. He raised his hand slowly, not surprising her and gripping her arm like last time, but very gently reaching out to stroke the lock of hair that stubbornly fell out of her bun.

"Christine… my dear Christine…" he whispered. The few other times he had spoken it had been frantic and threatening. Now, though, his voice was soft… peaceful even.

"Christine… I love you and I always will. If you have no other good memories of me, remember that. I have always loved you. You have made me so happy…"

Christine made a curious face. _What is he talking about? Is he saying 'goodbye' to me? _

"Erik?"

**He will not die, though. Not yet. I'm too angry for that to happen. He and I need to have a long talk and I need to know the truth about what he did to Raoul. After that, all bets are off. **

"Shh, don't speak my love. Just sit with me."

"You are going to be fine, Erik. I mean it."

"Oh, my darling girl! You are so good to me. Do not be afraid for your Erik, but remember that he adored you."

Her eyebrow arched up and she may have given the tiniest of smirks. _Don't be cruel, Christine. Now is not the time for humor. Ah! But when is the time? My life has been such a nightmare that I should accept any levity as it comes! Fine. You win. But you should at least tell him…_

"Erik, I don't mean that as wishful thinking. I mean you _really_ _are_ going to be fine."

Christine shook her head. He hadn't heard her--he was already fast asleep.

**I sense that he is improving. Every hour seems a little better than the last. By some miracle, I have been able to prevent the infection of his wounds. That Persian fellow comes by each day to check on us and bring more supplies. He thinks that Erik will be alright, he just needs time. **

**He is a remarkably fast healer--a trait which I envy. I still have the lingering remnants of that nasty cut on my forehead from my tragic defeat against the bed post on **_**that night**_**. Come to think of it, I suppose that's another reason I should be glad I haven't sought out Raoul just yet. It would not do for him to think I have been beaten. **

**I am fairly certain that Erik is not the monster Raoul seems to think he is. However, I am not about to try and convince him of that. After all he's been through it would be a slap in the face to say 'Erik is not all that bad'. **

**Speaking of Raoul, he is not faring as well as Erik is. I will not lie--I am very worried about him. Each day the news seems more grave. He is weak and feverish, but also violently delirious. It had been my original intent to wait to visit him when he awoke. I may have to reconsider. As much as I shudder to think of the possibility, I need to see him before he dies. Does that make me a horrible person? I do not wish to think negatively. All of me hopes that he will get well again. Still… is it wrong of me to prepare for the worst?**

**I shall have to ponder that. **

**Actually, I might as well ponder it now. I have had a good deal of time to think. It has been so very lonely without Erik's company. So, I tend to him when I need to. The rest of the time I just think and pray. **

**I am not sure of my feelings at the moment. On the one hand, I am absolutely furious with Erik. I feel like he betrayed my trust, and I'm upset. I know I don't seem like it, but I am. On the other hand, I am so concerned about him. **

**I want to hurt him. I truly do. **

**But, right now, seeing him in pain hurts me. **

**How do I reconcile the two? **

**And what of Raoul? While my feelings for Erik are not clear, my feelings for Raoul are. I love him dearly. Especially now, he is in my thoughts just as much as Erik is. Why then, am I sitting here next to a coffin that my husband is occupying while Raoul may be on his death bed? **

**I wish I knew why I do the things I do. **

**I also wish I knew why Erik does half of the things that he does. For example, why is my husband--who is currently **_**alive**_**--insisting on lying in a coffin?**

"It was for convenience, my dear," Erik chuckled.

Christine's head shot up and saw Erik smiling at her and attempting to sit up. She rushed over to help him sit, but he waved her off.

"The coffin…" he continued, "I figured it would be easier if I were already in there."

Chuckling again at Christine's puzzled expression he pointed to the journal she was holding explained to her that she had read that last line out loud. She blushed and buried her face in her hands, simultaneously mortally embarrassed and extremely thankful that she hadn't revealed any more than that.

Erik began to laugh heartily. Her reaction was priceless. His laugh, however, quickly turned into a groan as he doubled over in pain. She rushed to his side, scolding him for aggravating his wounds.

"Your face…" he gasped, "…worth it…"

**My husband must be feeling better. He has begun to tease his wife again. **

**Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to take advantage of this and spend some time with him. Later we are going to have a conversation. Luckily, he's still injured enough that he won't be able to escape me. **

**Until next time,**

**Christine**

* * *

Note: Well, I have to say that I'm not thrilled with this chapter. I promised myself I could finished it before I have to tackle a really big research paper. I know it's slow, but I figured Christine deserved a little time to reflect on things before she has to sort out all her problems. I hope it's not to OOC for either of them. I don't know, tell me what you think. Honestly, if you hate it, I'll take it down and try something else. 


	35. Chapter 35

**My Journal,**

**I am an idiot. Seriously. I should have talked with Erik while I had the chance, but I did not. Now--who knows?**

"And that is why M. Chaffee switched from bassoon to trumpet."

Christine clapped. "Brilliant, Erik! I had no idea you had something to do with that!"

"Come now, my dear. What kind of Opera Ghost would I be if I allowed a travesty like that to go on in my Opera?"

"So true, husband."

The mood of the room changed slightly and Christine made a contemplative frown. "Erik," she started, "what happened to you?"

He tensed, but it was imperceptible. "Whatever do you mean, my dear?" he asked casually.

She looked at him stupidly. "Whatever do I mean? Oh I don't know… how about you start with the part where you came home full of holes?"

"Oh, surely you exaggerate. It's not all that bad now, is it?"

"Not bad? Erik! _You _were the one who thought you were dying!"

"Ah. Me? Ridiculous. I have been through far worse. This reminds me of the time…" he continued on telling another story.

**I just got so caught up in… what exactly? I was so caught up in **_**him**_

"No, child. You are all that I need."

"Still... not even a cup of tea?"

He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Alright," he conceded, "Do you promise to return quickly?"

"I promise." she said solemnly

After not even three minutes had gone by with Christine fiddling in the kitchen, she was startled by anguished cry.

"Erik! What is it?" she gasped, running from the kitchen. Erik was on the floor of the hallway, clutching his side and hissing in pain.

"What happened? What are you doing? What were you thinking?"

"What was I thinking?" he asked angrily, "YOU LEFT ME! I was coming to find you!"

Even as he yelled, Christine wrapped her arms around him and helped him to his feet.

"Erik! We just had this conversation. Remember... I went to get your tea?"

"No excuses, girl. You must not leave the room. Just because I'm injured does not mean you are free to escape. What kind of woman leaves her husband in such a state anyway? Wait... where are we going? My room is in the other direction..."

"I know the layout of our home Erik. But, if I am not to leave you sight, we are going to do it on my terms. I shan't spend yet another day in that depressing room watching you doze in a coffin. We are going to my room and you are going to sleep in a proper bed--which, I might add, you should have been doing all along."

**I don't know what happened exactly. It was all so sudden. One moment he was sleeping, the next he was furiously pounding away at the piano. **

"There now, Erik" she said gently as Erik settled into the bed. She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.

"None of this is necessary, Christine," he said stubbornly, "I can take care of myself from here."

"I know you can, dear one," she replied, pretending not to notice the pained grimace he had made as she tucked him in or the soft sigh she heard when she kissed him. "Will you pretend that it is necessary? Just for me? I desperately need something to do."

He growled. "You know, I would much rather be in my coffin." He had to protest something.

"And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your sacrifice. You knew how much I hated that thing and, like a true gentleman, relented for a real bed."

"I can't tell if you are mocking me."

"Shh. Don't worry about it now. Just rest and get better."

He drifted off quickly and Christine moved quietly about the room, busying herself with other things. All of a sudden he started to thrash in the bed, making agitated sounds from his throat.

Christine was at his side in an instant, rubbing his brow and trying to keep him from aggravating his wounds.

Something about the situation made her think of when her father was very ill--in the last few weeks before he died. She began to hum softly and, after a few minutes, Erik settled and the tension in his body subsided. She smiled to herself at his reaction; her father had also been soothed by her singing.

**Now it has been over two weeks and I have barely seen my husband, much less spoken to him. **

What she hadn't expected was what happened after that. His eyes snapped open so suddenly that it made her jump.

He grabbed her wrist in his iron grip and gasped, "What is that? What are you singing?"

The urgency in his tone was a little unnerving and she gulped nervously before answering.

"It's just a song… I don't remember the name… it's a Swedish lullaby. Have I done something wrong?"

"You? No! Not remotely! Help me up, Christine," he commanded, "I must go to the music room."

Christine was appalled by this sudden change in behavior. "Absolutely not!" she said, "You are injured… you need to rest."

He looked at her as if she was mad. "Rest? There is no time for _rest_, woman! I need to get up!"

Without waiting for her to respond, he sprung from the bed and practically ran to the music room. Christine winced when she saw the blood soaking through his shirt in a place where the stitches must have broken from his rough motion. Oddly enough, though, he did not seem to notice.

A few seconds later she heard a door slam and lock. As he pounded away at the piano, she recognized that the melody sounded suspiciously like the lullaby she had just sung.

_That was unexpected. Where in the world did that come from? _

**I knew of his predisposition for obsession. Goodness! I know probably better than anyone! **

"Erik!" she shouted, pounding on his door. It had been at least three hours since he locked himself away. It all seemed… unnatural, somehow.

"Erik, open up! Don't make me pick the lock!"

After several more minutes of her knocking, the door swung open. Erik looked at her with a bewildered expression, as if surprised to see her there.

"What are you doing out there, Christine? You know the rule… you must always stay in my sight. Have you forgotten so quickly?"

"But Erik--" she started, "You were the one who left me… _you_ locked _me_ out!"

He scoffed, unbelieving. "Nonsense, child. Hurry up now and come in here. I have no time for your games. Can't you see that I am composing?"

She was about to say something else but he shuffled her inside and quickly closed the door. In a second, he was back at the piano as if nothing had happened.

**It is just odd seeing that obsession directed at something other than myself. **

Christine shuffled. She was bored. Very, very bored. What's worse is that Erik showed no signs of stopping any time soon. He would play a few measures, scribble something down, and play some more.

Play... scribble... play... scribble...

How frustratingly repetitive.

Once or twice she tried to interrupt him. She figured that, even if he snapped at her, he'd be paying her _some_ attention, at least. She was surprised, though, to find that he did not respond at all. Whether she called out to him or tapped his shoulder, he just shrugged her off as if he did not even realize she was there.

**If I remember correctly, Professor Valerius used to have an obsessive personality. Once, as a girl, I had a conversation with him about it. **

She hadn't seen the professor in four days. Every now and again he would lock himself up in his study and stay there for days or weeks at a time. Occasionally she asked Mamma what had happened to him. Her answer was always the same, though.

"Patience, child. He'll come out when he's ready."

Two days later he emerged. He was still clean and impeccably dressed, as always, but his eyes revealed that he had not slept in a while.

Some time later, as he sat in the parlor, smoking his pipe, she crawled up on his lap.

"Professor," she asked, giving him a kiss on the cheek, "What is it you do when you go away to your study?"

He chuckled and hugged the little girl. "It depends, really," he said thoughtfully, "Sometimes I just get a really good idea for a paper or a book. Sometimes I think I need to invent something. You see, when Inspiration visits me, I have trouble saying 'no' to her. She is very demanding and often insists that I do nothing else until she is finished with me."

She frowned a little. "What does it feel like… when you go away?"

"Oh, child! It is wonderful, actually. I go to my study and suddenly nothing else matters. Time has no meaning. All there is in the world is me and my ideas. When it happens, three days can go by in an instant."

"But how do you _live_? Don't you need food… and _sleep_? You can't live just by your work, can you?"

He considered this a moment. "I'm not sure… my wife always took care of me. She visits every few hours... I suppose with food or some other such trivial matter… I think… I'm not always paying much attention to those things."

Then, smiling, he added, "I always manage to pull through, though. Don't I, little one?" He tickled her and she giggled before running off with her dolls.

**Professor Valerius had Mamma to take care of him. Thankfully, Erik has me. Although, I have not the slightest idea how he survived before. **

**For what it's worth, I have not the slightest idea of how **_**I'm**_** going to survive this. After being the whole of Erik's world for so long, I had no idea how much attention I require. **

Christine spent a good long while pondering how to keep her husband alive during his fit of inspiration.

Sleep seemed unlikely. Even when he was sane he seemed to abhor it--though she never understood exactly why. She decided that was not worth pressing at the moment. She'd only get yelled at and ruin her chances of anything else she might want to do for him.

Food. That seemed like a good enough idea. It worried her how little he ate. She knew from previous conversations that, in his current state, he would likely forget to eat for several days.

Medical attention was a must. The last thing she needed was a ghost with a fever. No, if nothing else, she was determined to keep his wounds clean and infection-free.

That's a good enough start, she decided. Realizing that it was unlikely he would turn around any time soon, she snuck out of the room and made up a plate of simple foods.

"I brought you something to eat, Erik. I thought you might be hungry."

"I don't have time for food. I am busy."  
**  
**Not to be deterred, she added, "I took that into account. See, everything is crumb-free and cut up small so that you can eat as you work without making a mess. I'll just leave it here beside your piano bench. That way you don't have to stop."

"But I can't eat with my mask on..." he protested.

"Erik..." Christine replied with a questioning expression, "You are not wearing your mask."

He sucked in a breath as he felt his face. _No mask! You idiot! What must she be thinking of you? You have probably scared the child half to death! Where is it? There... on the piano. You always take it off when you compose. Why weren't you thinking of her? Didn't you realize you are not alone?_

As he reached for it, he moaned, "Oh Christine! Forgive me!"

"Relax, Erik." she said, staying his hand. "It's nothing I haven't seen before. You have your back facing me, anyway. If it will convince you to eat something, I'll even keep my eyes shut."

That seemed to appease him and, after some more mumbled apologies and affectionate words, he was back at work. He did not even realize that he had eaten until he absently reached over to find his plate empty.

A few hours later, Erik was once again drawn from his trance when a pair of small hands snaked around him and began working the buttons of his shirt. Any other time, the fluttering sensations this type of attention inspired would have left his mind swimming with pleasant imaginings.

Currently, though, it was yet another disruption of the comfortable groove he had settled into.

"Don't stop," she whispered in his ear, "Keep playing. I'm just going to look at your cuts."

He sighed. Even in his profound irritation, he could not bring himself to protest her touches. Heaven forbid that he should carelessly reject her--she might never touch him again! Luckily, he had retained enough of his faculties even in his frenzy to see the imprudence of taking such a risk.

He continued to play, ignoring the sting of alcohol as she rubbed it against his lacerated skin. Eventually he forgot that she had been there save the fact that his bandages no longer itched and his shirt was missing.  
**  
The biggest problem here is that I still don't have the answers I need. I have come to realize that Erik is an expert at keeping secrets. Why is it that I know so little about my husband? **

**First, I'd like to know why on earth he came up with that asinine rule about not leaving his sight--a rule that he has still not recanted, by the way.**

**I know nothing about his past. For that matter, I know nothing about his plans for the future beyond being married and living like every other man. How does he feel about religion (though, apparently, impersonating heavenly beings doesn't seem to bother him) or family--my heavens, what about children? (Funny how I never wondered about that before now. I wonder what has changed? Personal note--ponder that later.)**

**Then again, do I know any of those things about Raoul? Does it matter? At the end of the day, it never made me love him any less. **

**But, for goodness' sake! I don't even know my own last name!**  
**  
Speaking of Raoul, the fact of the matter remains that Erik has never explained what happened that night. Why doesn't he realize that this is not a good time to dodge my questions? How am I suppose to be married to someone who tried to murder the love of my life? Twice! **

**I wonder why it is that the one time I try not to jump to conclusions is the time when I should have done so. This is ridiculous! Why is he being so difficult? How long should I allow this to continue? **

**It is ultimately frustrating to be married to one so secretive. **

**Well that has turned into quite the rant, hasn't it? I suppose I should sign off now and see if my husband is feeling a little less consumed and a little more… what's the word?… **_**normal**_

"Erik?"

"Erik!"

He whipped around on his piano bench with a murderous glare in his eyes. When he recognized Christine it immediately softened but his voice kept a tense edge to it as he spoke.

"_Wife_, I thought I asked you not to bother me. Did I not promise to meet you for dinner?"

"Yes, Erik." she said, trying not to look nervous. "But--"

"But nothing, my dear. Go back to the corner and finish your book."

Christine who, by this time, was infinitely frustrated with his commands, bristled ever so slightly as she said, "I simply thought you should know, _husband_, that I hear one of the bells ringing for the door."

She was going to add, _Unless you _like_ intruders in your home_, but decided against it. In this mood, Erik was likely to kill whoever happened to be calling and she had a sneaking suspicion that it was the Persian.

"You are hearing things. I would know if someone was in my house."

She shrugged and, with a slight scowl, went back to her novel. Before long, Erik was once again engrossed in his music. Once she was certain that he was fully absorbed in his composition, she quietly slipped out the door.

It was indeed The Persian.

"Welcome monsieur!" she said cheerily, happy to have another friendly presence.

"It is always good to see you, madame."

"Come in, come in. I hadn't expected you to come by today. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Thank you, no. I shan't be staying long. I have come to tell you that the vicomte awoke this morning and has been asking for you.

**Until Tomorrow,**

**Christine**


	36. Chapter 36

**Dear Journal,**

**I have gone to see Raoul. I imagine the act will have stirred up quite a bit of trouble that will all come back to me eventually--but I am not going to dwell on that just yet. I truly feel it was the right thing to do. I needed to find out what happened in that cellar. **

Raoul was sitting in his bed with the morning paper when he heard voices outside the door. He looked up with mild disinterest, trying to hear what was being said about him.

"Now remember, Madame," said the doctor, "It's not just the injuries we had to deal with. He also developed a bad case of pneumonia from his ordeal. We almost lost him a couple of times. Even now, you'll not find him quite up to his usual self. He is still weak and he tires easily. I will allow you to go in for a few minutes, but you must not tax him overmuch. Do you understand?"

Raoul listened for the response, wondering what woman had come to visit him. Perhaps one of his sisters?

"Yes, sir," replied the voice.

Two words were all he needed. He would recognize that voice anywhere. It was not his sister, it was Christine!

"Christine!" he called out as the door to his room cracked open.

Christine winced slightly. After the doctor's lecture about not upsetting or exciting him, she managed to do so in the first five seconds of her visit.

"I'm here, Raoul. Right here," she soothed, taking hold of his hand while attempting to adjust the seat by his bedside. Raoul was having none of that, though, and he yanked on her hand, pulling her down into his lap where he proceeded to envelop her in a huge bear hug.

"Oh Christine," he murmured against her hair, "you are safe. I am so glad you are safe."

**I also had a decision to make.**

"Raoul, we really need to talk." Christine said gently as she pulled herself back into her chair. She did continue to hold his hand, however, a gesture that they both found comforting. "What happened to you after _that night_?"

He sighed, not overly excited about reliving the experience yet again. All he wanted to do was take Christine away and forget this nightmare. Still, he knew her well enough to realize that she needed answers before they could proceed.

"Tell me what you remember first, then I'll fill in the blanks," he offered.

"Well, there's not much to tell, really. I thought I had convinced him to free you. That's what he led me to believe, at any rate. I was in the room long enough to see you lying, unconscious, on the floor. He checked you and told me that you would live. Then he took you out of the room."

Raoul nodded, he expected as much. "I remember fighting the water and then everything went black. When I woke, I was locked up in a cell. Other than that, I don't know my location. Occasionally he would come down and bring me small amounts of food and ridicule me. In retrospect, I see now what he was doing… none of the beatings he gave me were unprovoked, you see, but he would taunt me with you and strike me when I reacted. It was and odd thing, really… it was as if he was looking for an excuse rather than just attacking me for its own sake."

"It's his conscience," Christine replied softly, her eyes fixed on her hands, "He's just realized he has one… he's trying to listen to it…"

Christine was speaking more to herself than to anyone else, but Raoul heard her nonetheless. Incredulous, he exclaimed, "Christine! You cannot be seriously defending that monster!"

"He isn't a monster!" Christine bit back, the venom evident in her deceptively soft voice.

"What has he done to you?" Raoul breathed. He looked down at the ring that she was unconsciously twisting around her finger. "You married him, didn't you?"

As Christine looked up into his eyes, she forced all emotion from her face. She refused to apologize; she had nothing to be ashamed of.

"I did." she answered simply with a hint of defiance in her set jaw.

"The bastard!" Raoul hissed, "I'll kill him."

Raoul's eyes flashed with more emotion than Christine had ever seen in her dearest friend. Until now, she had only seen Erik show such passion in his anger. That same maddened look on Raoul unnerved her.

"Has he touched you?" He asked urgently, grabbing her wrists tightly and pulling her closer. He searched her eyes frantically as if to assure himself she was real… still his little Christine.

"That's none of your business!" Christine cried, appalled. She jerked her hands away and stood up.

"It damned well is!"

Then, seeing Christine's startled expression, he calmed slightly.

In a softer tone, he added, "Christine, listen to me. You don't have to go on like this. I'm here now. I will call on some of my contacts and get this marriage annulled. You were forced and no one in their right mind would hold you to it… I'll take care of it, Christine… the Church will annul it and it'll be like it never happened."

**Was it a tough decision? I suppose it would have been if I had gotten emotional about it. In reality, though, it wasn't much of a choice. I made a promise and that's that.**

"I can't Raoul…"

"What do you mean? Why the hell not?"

"I made a promise. I'm sick of lying, Raoul… I'm sick of the deception and the manipulation. I promised to be his wife. I made the promise in front of a priest… I just can't pretend like it never happened."

"Don't you love me?" he asked helplessly.

"You know I do, Raoul… but that's not the point."

**Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it was difficult--perhaps not the decision, but the implementation. I still love Raoul very much. You'd think that, having so much practice in rejecting him, I would be getting used to it! It's been quite the opposite I'm afraid; it hurts more each time I've tried to say goodbye to him.  
**

"Do you love _him_?" Raoul asked, though he was terrified of the answer.

"That doesn't matter. Don't you see? This isn't about feelings… it's about honor… about me being a trustworthy person. What kind of woman would I be if I ran off and broke my word whenever it suits me better?"

"You make it sound so simple… this isn't about what dress you're going to wear or who you're going with to a ball. This is about the rest of your life, Christine!"**  
**

**I just wish he'd accept it. Doesn't he realize how hard this is on all of us? **

"Don't you think I know that? Do you think you're the only one having a hard time?"

"I don't accept this, Christine. He has brainwashed you… he's turned you against me. I won't hear anymore of this nonsense. You are not going back to him. Do you hear me, Christine? He will not control you any more."

**  
I suppose I should be grateful that he is so determined to protect me. I know that he will not give up if he thinks Erik is forcing or manipulating me. **

"Is that what you think? That I've been hypnotized by him? That I am not capable of making my own decision?"

"What else can I think? You're speaking madness! No. It is settled. You will stay here until I am well enough to travel. You will be under my protection… I shall have guards posted at every entrance. And, if he comes here, I will kill him! You are sweet and innocent, Christine. You cannot see that he is manipulating you. I will not allow it."

**  
Is he forcing me? I'm not exactly sure. But that does not matter. What matters is that Raoul thinks it is my decision alone.  
**

Christine shook her head sadly. Why was he so persistent? Why could he just not accept the inevitable?

"No, Raoul. I cannot let you do that. You have already suffered too much for me."

"I would fight a thousand dragons for you!"

"I know you would. But I am asking you not to. I know it is hard, but I'm asking you to let go."

"Never!" Raoul cried, lunging out of the bed to grab hold of her arms tightly. He shook her and tears streamed out of his eyes.

The doctor had heard enough commotion and came barging in.

"That is enough, Madame!" he said harshly. "I will not have you upsetting my patient. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."****

No, that is not true. It does matter. I've been telling myself that it doesn't for a long time. But, somehow, putting it in writing makes the denial seem a little more real.

Christine nodded. They all needed time to cool down. There was nothing more she could say to Raoul about this. She turned to leave, but Raoul would not relinquish his grip on her arms. She winced slightly; even in his infirmity, he was clutching her tightly enough to leave little bruises later. ****

Raoul brought up a lot of questions that I'd previously been avoiding. As much as my mind accuses Erik of maneuvering around difficult topics, I am guilty of the same--just not quite so blatant about it.

So, back to my question: am I with Erik of my own free will? Is it cheating to answer 'yes and no'? He is not the husband I'd always imagined, and I do believe that I would not have married him if I had been given a real choice in the matter. 

**But, things have changed between us since then. I am beginning to see those hidden facets of Erik that change my perspective on him. In short, I am starting to understand why he does some of the things he does. What's more is that, the more I learn about him, the more I want to know. Heaven help me, but the man intrigues me!**

Erik emerged from his music room looking tired and disheveled. After his burst of creative energy, he was exhausted and feeling the sudden need to hold his wife. The emotional let down as he came from the high of his obsessive spurts always left him needy for company. In the past, the unresolved feeling would leave him angry and cantankerous. This time, though, he actually had someone to turn to. Even in his fatigue, he was delighted at the prospect.

"Christine!" he bellowed after finding the first couple of rooms empty. Where was she anyway? Wasn't she supposed to stay near him?

He saw a shadow emerging from down the hall and it did not take him long to realize the tall form was not his wife. Having shed his jacket long ago, Erik cursed that he didn't have his lasso.

_No matter, _he thought,_ I can always kill him with my bare hands_. His fingers flexed a bit.

The form put both hands up submissively. "Stand down, Erik," a voice said, "It's me."

"Do you think that matters? Where is my wife, Persian? Give her to me now or I will not hesitate to kill you."

"I have no doubt of it, friend, but I'm afraid I cannot deliver. She has gone out briefly. I _am_ here, though, to talk some sense into you before you go tearing about Paris to find her."

"She _left_ me?" Erik growled, though the pain was evident in his voice. "I leave her alone to compose for a few hours and she left me!"

"A few hours?" The Persian asked incredulously. "You have been absorbed for over _two weeks_!"

"Two weeks…" he whispered, running a hand through his sparse hair.

"You never told her the truth about her vicomte, did you Erik?"

"What are you implying?"

"You didn't think she'd continue like this… Christine may be innocent but she is not stupid. That girl is stronger than you realize. You refused to talk with her and so she went to seek answers herself. If she returns, you consider yourself lucky. If not, you can live knowing it is your own fault for not being honest with her."

Erik seethed at his friend's accusations. "She will return," he vowed, "because I will bring her back. And you better pray for mercy on this wretched city if I cannot find her. If I do not have my wife returned to me before the night is up, you have not even begun to see what Erik is capable of."

**Even his threats are beginning to make sense. He's still so very insecure about my devotion towards him. He's afraid that I will abandon him. Maybe it is because he knows that I do not love him. I see that, when he begins to feel his control slipping, he lashes out with threats and harsh words. He has issues with control.**

**Erik has not had much cause to trust people. I am ashamed to admit that, in the past, my actions have done nothing to boost his confidence in humanity. However, I wish to rectify that now. I have to believe that neither Erik nor myself is beyond redemption. **

**And so, there it is--I may not have chosen Erik of my own free will, but if he were to release me today, I'm not certain I would leave so readily and I am positive I would not abandon him the way Raoul is suggesting! **

**I might not love my husband, but I am devoted to him. I have to be. I made a promise.**

**But, I am beginning to think there may be more than that. Raoul wants me to run away with him and never see Erik again. I know it would kill him if I did that. Beyond that though… beyond the guilt and betrayal and fear that he would seek me out, there is something else. Something tells me that, if I parted from Erik, I would lose a bit of myself as well. That thought unsettles me to no end. **

This was getting nowhere. Raoul was becoming more agitated by the minute, he seemed to have trouble breathing and the doctor was glaring daggers at her for the disruption. She had to do something.

Sighing resignedly, she said, "What do I have to do to convince you that this is my decision?"

"Stay with me!" Raoul said without hesitation, "Not forever, just tonight. I'll have one of the servants make up a room for you. Stay away from him just long enough that he is no longer controlling your mind. If, tomorrow, you still wish to return, I will know that it is _your_ words you are speaking and not his. Will you do this? Will you stay away from him tonight?"

Christine blanched a bit. She was absolutely torn. On the one hand, she knew Raoul wouldn't accept her rejection otherwise. On the other hand, she knew she was taking a risk just coming here in the first place. Still, Erik hadn't spoken more than a few words to her in the last two weeks. It was unlikely he would even realize she was gone. One night couldn't hurt, could it? She would return first thing in the morning.

"Alright," she agreed, "Just for tonight, though. Do you understand? This will not change anything."

Raoul seemed relieved. She would see, a few hours away from _him_ would help clear her mind. Then she will realize the irrationality of her decision.

**I am getting the distinct impression that I have made a mistake by agreeing to stay here tonight. Call it a premonition, but I feel like this will not end well. **

**I can't do it. It is wrong for me to stay here when I have a husband. It is betrayal in its very definition. **

**You know, I did not exactly promise to stay **_**here**_** tonight---just that I'd stay away. It's settled then, I need to leave. I'm going to Mamma's house. I can sleep there tonight and hopefully she'll help me sort out my feelings. Addled as she is, Mamma has always been able to help me. Matters of the heart seem to be her specialty. **

**Goodnight then, dear journal. I am going out. **

**Christine**


	37. Chapter 37

**My Dear Journal,**

Sometimes things happen that make you reflect on what is really important in life. 

Erik practically flew towards the Chagny estate with the daroga struggling to keep up. When he realized he could stall his friend no longer, the Persian suggested they hire a taxi to take them the several miles out of the city.

Erik, however, was unwilling to wait for 'some drunken idiot to whip his tired, old beasts to some reasonable speed' and, in mere moments, had secured two of the finest horses the daroga had ever seen.

"Is that the missing horse from La Profeta?" he asked, horrified, pointing towards the magnificent white stallion the dark, masked man was mounting.

"Are you coming or not?" Erik snapped, already urging his horse forward. "Besides," he added, "If this is the worst thing I do today, you should consider yourself blessed."

The daroga shuddered, but mounted the other horse and followed close behind.

**Death is one of those things, and it has the uncanny ability to give you a new perspective.  
**  
Raoul was sleeping soundly when he heard a commotion downstairs. He had half expected some sort of disturbance tonight and so he slept with a loaded pistol on his nightstand, much like he did the night he was haunted by the glowing eyes at the foot of his bed.

It turned out to be a useless precaution, as he barely had time to register the noise and pick up his weapon before the door flew open to reveal a terrified manservant with a knife to his throat.

The Persian appeared next in the doorway and sidestepped around the masked phantom and the trembling servant. "Drop the gun, boy." he warned, "Nobody needs to get hurt tonight."

"Watch your tongue, daroga. I do not share your sentiments. It would be my greatest pleasure to tear you limb from limb, vicomte." Erik threatened.

Then, in one motion so fluid that no one, save the phantom, could understand its accomplishment, Erik shoved the hostage away and relieved Raoul of his weapon. In the time it took the Persian to blink twice, Erik was on the bed, his bony hand around the vicomte's pale neck, lifting him slightly off the mattress. 

"What have you done with my wife, you miserable wretch? I should kill you in your bed like the worthless coward you are!"

The daroga noticed as the boy's face grew red and his eyes began to roll back. He grabbed onto Erik's arm harshly, trying to shake him out of his murderous trance before he did any real damage.

"Don't do it. Erik, think of Christine! Think of how she looks at you now. Now imagine the look in her eyes when she finds out you killed her friend. That is the way she will look at you for the rest of your life if you do this. Can you bear it? Can you live knowing that, each time she looks at you, she only sees a murderer?"

Erik hesitated for a moment, the daroga's words cutting through the fog of rage that had fallen over his mind.

"No, I couldn't," he said softly, dropping Raoul.

As his mind and vision cleared, he looked with disgust at the young man, still gasping and squirming in his bed, trying to absorb the sudden influx of oxygen.

"You are pathetic," he spat. "Get up, boy, and take me to my _wife_."

Raoul growled, standing up in a fighting stance. "You'll never see her again, monster. I won't let you have her. You have done enough damage here. When will you learn that she does not want you? She never will! It won't be long, now, until she belongs to herself again--until her mind is clear from your brainwashing. Then she'll get this farce of a marriage annulled and try to forget this nightmare ever happened!"

Erik made to launch himself, once again, at the youth, but the daroga stepped out and stayed his motion.

"M. de Chagny," he warned, "I have helped you many times these past months, but I can no longer protect you if you insist on foolishly bringing danger on yourself. Please, direct us to Christine and we will sort this all out like gentlemen. There is no honor in keeping a man from his wife."

Raoul hesitated for a moment longer, the Persian's words warring his own desire to keep Christine hidden away. However, Erik had had enough talking. He stormed out of the room, muttering something about 'not having time for these games' and went to find Christine himself. The two men quickly followed him out the door into the hallway, but he was no longer in sight. 

**It had been my intention to talk to Mamma Valerius. As it would turn out, though, she died several days ago. So it's a reasonable assessment to say that the evening did not go as I had intended. **

"Mamma?" Christine called out as she let herself into the little flat. Mamma always left the door unlocked, much to Christine's dismay. Christine insisted that it was not safe for an old woman to stay in a house that is not locked up properly, but Mamma always countered, saying that she wanted Christine to be able to visit anytime, even if she couldn't get to the door.

Christine smiled softly. This was just another one of Mamma's quirks that made her love the old woman all the more.

The house was unusually tidy. Mamma Valerius was not a messy person by any means, but there were usually enough teacups and laundry around to give the flat a lived-in feel. Today there was nothing conspicuously out of place, but the house looked emptier than usual.

"Mamma?" she said one more time, making her way to the old woman's room. The evening was still early, surely she had not gone to sleep already.

"Christine? Christine Daae?" a voice called. Christine's smile faded, that was not Mamma.

A rotund old gentleman with grey-sprinkled red hair and a jolly looking mustache strolled out of Prof. Valerius' office.

"Yes…" she said hesitantly.

"Splendid." he answered, though his voice did not sound cheerful, "You are the last person I needed to contact. Oh my. Little Christine, look at how you've grown!"

"Excuse me, do I know you?"

"Ah. I expect not, you were very little when I last saw you. I used to work for the professor; he hired me to keep all his legal affairs in order. I suppose the last time we met was shortly after he passed away."

"Passed away? Sir, what are you doing here? Where is Mamma?"

"Oh dear child," he sighed, shaking his head. His face was built to suit a set of twinkling eyes and a warm grin, but today he had neither and the expression looked strangely out of place. "I am sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but Madame Valerius passed on three days ago."

"She…" Christine had to sit down, she felt like she couldn't breathe. "But… Mamma…"

"I am so sorry… I would have informed you sooner, but was unable to locate your new residence."

"I… Please, sir, do you think you could give me some time alone?"

"Of course. All the paperwork is in order and I will leave it on the table for you to read later. You'll contact me when you are ready to sign them, yes?"

"Yes, I will, sir. Would you mind seeing yourself out? I don't think I can move just yet…"

"Of course, child. Again, I am sorry for your loss." With that, the man retrieved his coat and hat and departed.

**Please don't take my emotionless statements as a reflection of my mental state; I really am broken up about this. But as you know, dear journal, this is where I can sort out those addled thoughts that my grief-stricken brain cannot manage to put logical order to. **

Raoul and the daroga were already heading down the hall, towards Christine's bedroom, when they heard a roar of frustration. Erik had undoubtedly found Christine's room and all but broke down the door only to find that she was missing. Raoul crossed himself and almost vomited when he saw that the two guards he had stationed outside Christine's door were dead, their necks snapped.

"You idiot," hissed the Persian, "You posted guards outside her door? Why not just post a sign outside the door 'Christine is in this room'?"

Raoul struggled to take deep breaths, the excitement agitating his still weakened health. "I thought they could protect her," he gulped.

The daroga shook his head at the young man's foolishness. "In all your dealings with Erik, what made you think that a couple of armed guards would stand between him and what he has declared to be his? Those to men probably did not even slow him down."

Approaching cautiously, the two men saw a dark shadow, hunched over the bed and breathing heavily, his back facing them.

"What have you done with her?" Erik growled as he sensed Raoul coming through the doorway behind him.

"What do you mean, 'what have _I _done with her'? She was just here when…" the young man stopped, his eyes growing wide, when he realized that the room was empty.

"Is this some trick of yours, monster?" Raoul sneered, though his face had gone white with worry. "What game are you playing at?"

"I assure you, boy, that this so no game. Now," he said, menacingly fingering the bit of rope peeking out of his sleeve, "I suggest you tell me where I can find my wife. I have spared you for Christine's sake, but I will not ask again. Produce her or I shall happily snap that delicate neck of yours."

"ENOUGH, YOU TWO!" the Persian shouted. Both men stopped briefly, a little shocked to hear the mild-mannered man speak in such an aggressive tone.

"My, my, daroga," Erik smirked, "I didn't know you had it in you,"

"Shut up." he snapped. He grabbed a folded piece of paper off the desk and thrust it in the masked man's face. "If you two could control your tempers for five seconds, you might be able to look around and see the obvious. Erik, with your attention to detail, I expected better."

Erik took the paper from the Persian's hand and looked at it carefully. It was a note addressed to Raoul de Chagny in Christine's perfectly practiced handwriting.

"Always the detective, I see, daroga…" he murmured, unfolding the paper.

_My dear Raoul,_

_I suspect this will be just as hard for you to read as it is for me to write. I appreciate all you've done, but it's time for this to stop. Your persistence has always endeared you to me. Even now, that you insist that I think about my decision clearly and without influence shows me how protective you are, making sure that I am not being forced into anything. The truth of the matter is, though, that I do not need a full night to consider my decision. I have been thinking about it almost constantly since the night I first had to choose between you. _

_I won't lie; when I first chose Erik, I did it to save you and everyone else in the building that night. But, since then, there have been a lot of changes. You are different, I am different… even Erik is different. I know this is hard to accept, but you must try for all our sakes. I have decided to stay with Erik, not out of fear or guilt or pity, but because it is the right thing to do. _

_I think you know how I feel about you, Raoul, but I am serious when I say that, from now on, if I have to choose between you and Erik, I will always choose my husband._

_Please, I beg you to accept my decision and believe me when I say I am content with my life and my marriage. I wish you all the happiness in the world, Raoul, and I hope that someday you will understand. _

_I know I promised to stay someplace else tonight, and I think I would be a hypocrite of the worst kind if I went home after going on about the importance of keeping promises. Still, I believe that under the circumstances, I should not stay here. Rest assured that I am safe; I just needed to be somewhere I can be alone with my thoughts and maybe talk to someone in a more neutral position. _

_Love,_

_Christine_

"Where would Christine go to think in private?" Erik asked, looking up from the note.

"There are several places. Why? What does she say in the letter?" Raoul's voice came out almost as a whine as he reached for the paper that Erik clutched just out of reach.

"Think, man!" he snarled, "And who would she talk to for impartial advice? Does she have any friends?"

"A priest, perhaps?" offered the Persian, "Perhaps she is at the church."

Erik looked at the vicomte as if to ask, _is that possible?_

Raoul's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "It's possible, I suppose," he mused, "but when we were children, she would always run to her father when she was upset… or Mme. Valerius if he was unavailable. Since the cemetery is too far away…"

"Mamma Valerius." the two men said in unison.

Erik dropped the letter in the younger man's hand and disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared.

The Persian shook his head, it was unnatural to be able to move so fast and still maintain total silence. He thanked Raoul sincerely and promised to send word when they found Christine safe and sound.

"What are you talking about?" the youth snapped incredulously, "I'm going with you!"

"I really don't think that is a good idea, M. de Chagny," he said. His voice was gentle, as always, but there was a finality there that Raoul was slow to argue with.

"Listen," the daroga continued, "I know you want to swoop in and rescue the helpless damsel, but now is not the time for foolish heroics. Even if your health would permit you outside in the cold weather, Erik would surely kill you for following him. Have you not noticed? Christine is safe with Erik… but Erik is only safe with Christine. He has a madness that only she can control. He is a different man when she is with him, I've seen it. Love changes a man. As long as he has her with him… it is as if he has a reason to keep his mind under control… but there is nothing powerful enough to protect you if you keep them apart. Please, M. de Chagny, let them be."

He tapped the note in Raoul's hand. Raoul, shaking with grief and rage, sat on the bed to read it. The daroga gave him a fatherly pat on his shoulder and left the room, wanting to give Raoul some privacy to wrestle with some of his emotions.

He stopped and asked a servant for directions to the home of Mme. Valerius. As he passed down the hallway, his heart broke to hear the young man's sobs echoing through the house.

_Youth,_ he thought sadly. _One never quite gets over their first love, do they?_

Raoul was young yet, though, and had plenty of time to heal. It hurt now, of that the daroga was certain, but he had his whole life ahead of him and the pain would fade with time.

Erik, however, was a different story entirely. The Persian mounted his horse and sped off down the road, anxious to keep an eye on his friend and make sure nobody did anything foolish.

**  
When I made the decision to leave Raoul's house, never in my mind did I imagine that Mamma would not be at home waiting for me. She has always been there. I barely recall my own mother, but ever since I can remember, Mamma Valerius has always been there for me. She was there when I scraped my knees and didn't want to tell Papa I was climbing trees with the boys. She was there when I first encountered those shocking and unpleasant experiences that signify that a young woman is growing up. She was even there when I first got my heart broken by a boy.  
**

Erik surged through the streets, urging his mount faster and faster like a madman. His mind reeled with unresolved thoughts and conflicting emotions. Between her sudden abandonment and her letter to Raoul, he had been worked up into quite a state of instability.

_She left you. You knew she would. It was only a matter of time._

_No! No it's not possible! I love her… she knows that I love her… why would she betray me?_

_Because you are a hideous monster. You could offer her the world and all it would do is horrify and disgust her._

_I _have_ offered her the world! I would do anything for Christine!_

_For all the good it did you… she still left you the first moment she had the chance._

Occasionally, Reason would step forward…

_That isn't true. She could have left when you were injured. You could have done nothing to stop her. But she didn't… she stayed and took care of you. She kissed your death's head and bandaged your hideous body. _

But Doubt and Self-Loathing quickly overshadowed it…

_It was pity and nothing more. _

_Once you were healed, she ran back into the arms of that wretched boy._

Again, Reason spoke up…

_Think of the letter, Erik! She said she chose you! That letter rejected all that Chagny had to offer… she rejected him for _you

_Lies, all of it! Why should I believe anything that woman says? When has she given me cause to trust her? This is just another clever trick of hers… another manipulation so that Erik will not kill her boy and so that they may escape together._

_You don't really mean that, Erik. She had no reason to believe you would read that letter. _

_ENOUGH! I have heard enough. Her words are meaningless… look at her actions! She left me! She left me…_

_She left me… _Erik began to weep as he thought the phrase over and over. He pushed the horse faster still and suddenly his grief was overcome by white-hot fury.

_She left me, but she will learn. I am her husband and she will obey me. There will be no annulment and no doubt in her mind about who she belongs to. Erik will bring her back by force… lock her up--tie her to the bed, if need be, so she will never leave again! Then he will go back and kill that miserable boy. She will hate me… but she will be mine. _

And so Erik went to fetch his bride.

**  
Papa was my world, but in those times when a man would just not do, Mamma Valerius was there to fill in the holes. **

Christine did not move for several hours. It was all so surreal. Here she was, in the house the Mamma had not left in ages, and Mamma was not here. She would never be here again, either.

_Why does everyone I love always leave me?_

Her mind suddenly wandered to the one man who promised never to leave her. It was a superficial promise, she realized--who could really make an guarantee like that?--but it soothed her just the same. For some reason, she wanted to believe it also. Even Raoul--foolhardy, passionate Raoul who clearly adored her--would not make such a promise. Perhaps it was just her emotional state, but she truly believed that, if anyone could make such a statement and mean it, it was Erik. He could do anything.

Confronted with the need to be distracted, Christine quickly looked around the room for something to keep her busy. Her eyes fell on the coffee table where all the paperwork regarding Mamma's assets had been laid.

She grabbed the folder and began flipping through its contents when a sealed letter fell out from between the folds. She examined it and saw that it was from Mamma Valerius, written on unattractive floral stationary--Mamma's favorite--and addressed '_My darling little Christine'._

She took the letter up to Mamma's bedroom and curled up in the big bed like she used to when she was a child. Then she began to read.

_Dear Christine,_

_I sense my time on earth is short. Don't cry for me, darling love, for I find myself happier and more hopeful each day. I have missed the Professor terribly; not a day goes by that my heart does not ache to be back in his arms again. To know that I will be with him soon fills me with so much joy that I can barely stand it. When you are in love, you will understand. When you find that person that you are so devoted to that their absence leads you to feel like you are missing a part of yourself, you will understand. I am confident it will happen someday, if it has not already. _

_After my husband died, I often asked God why I remained here on earth. The answer, I believe, was found in you. When your father also left us, I realized that you and I only had each other. I was determined to see you grow up and become the beautiful, caring young woman I knew you'd be. That day has come. You have become a spectacular young lady, Christine. You are sweet and talented; you have a compassionate and devoted heart, and care for others before yourself. Your father would be as proud of you as I am. _

_I used to worry about you, but I find that I don't need to anymore. You are courageous in your own right, but you have also found a husband who loves you. Try not to harden your heart so towards the rest of the world. Allow yourself to love and be loved and, above all, allow yourself to be happy. _

_I love you, my little Christine, and I wish you all the joy and contentment in your life that I have found in mine._

_With love,_

_Mamma_

Christine's eyes were streaming with tears by the time she was finished with the letter. She held it gingerly in her hands, rereading it over again. Vaguely she registered a violent opening of the front door. In the back of her mind, she realized it must be Erik. Still, she did not move. Even when he called out her name in that murderously beautiful voice of his, she remained where she was, her eyes refusing to budge from the letter in her hands.

_Let him come_, her mind thought.  
**  
I was moved to tears once again when I found that, even in her passing, Mamma did her best to reach out and help me. Her letter meant a lot to me. **

Erik unceremoniously thrust open the door. If it hadn't been unlocked, he would have broken it down. He tore through the room, looking for his wife.

Erik's anger intensified when Christine did not answer his call.

"I know you are in here, Christine." he said in a deceptively beautiful voice. It was as if he had become The Voice once again, as he sent the sound through all corners of the little house, giving the illusion of coming from everywhere at the same time. _My voice will find her…_

Erik concentrated on listening. Any other man would have been greeted with silence, but Erik's ear had been trained to detect even the most insignificant of noises when he put his mind to it. His extraordinary hearing picked up on a slight hiccup of a sob issuing from one of the bedrooms.

His eyes flashed wickedly as he approached the room in question. The door was already slightly ajar and he opened it to find Christine sitting upon the bed, eyes downcast, with a flowery paper in her trembling hands.

Triumph and anger whipped through him simultaneously at the sight.

"Christine!" he hissed, "What do you think you are doing?"

She said nothing.

"Answer me, damn you! Explain yourself!"

Grabbing her arms, Erik pulled her up harshly. The natural human response to such a violent tug would be to pull back. So, naturally Erik was surprised and confused when she stood up without complaint. Not only didn't she resist his force, she actually closed the remaining space between them herself, resting her head against his chest.

Erik's resolve flickered when he felt her pliant body, willingly nestled against him even in his obvious rage. _Something must be very wrong, _he realized. Suddenly his own feelings began to melt away, leaving only worry for his wife. He knew he could not stay mad at her when he heard, or rather felt, her breathe three words against him…

"I need you"

**As confused as she was, she still always managed to tell me whatever it is I needed to hear--whether I realized it at the time or not.**

With love,  
Christine  



	38. Chapter 38

_Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera_

A/N: I almost ended it here, but there's a little more I wanted to wrap up. I've got a few more chapters, I think. Please keep reading. Anyway, thanks for your reviews. You guys rock.

* * *

**Dear Journal,**

**One good thing did come from Mamma's passing, although I'm not sure how to describe it. **

For several moments, they neither spoke nor moved. Erik's anger faded as he held his wife, rubbing light circles on her back and absorbing the shudders her body made from her crying, which had begun anew when she went into his arms.

The couple did not even notice that the daroga had arrived some time after them. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying to get their attention as he shuffled about in the doorway.

"What do you want, daroga?" Erik whispered. His voice was barely audible--scarcely more than a breath--but the Persian was not ignorant of the warning in his tone. He grimaced and blushed; the Persian had just come in to make sure Christine was alright; he hadn't realized he would be interrupting such an intimate moment.

"Ah… never mind," he stuttered, "I'll come back later. Actually… I'll just be in the parlor if you need me."

Moment broken, Christine pulled back slightly from Erik's embrace and looked up at him. Erik just watched her for a moment. He half expected her to step away and greet the daroga like a polite hostess and Erik was secretly pleased that she seemed oblivious to the other man's presence. The lingering tears made her eyes even bluer and brighter and his grip on her tightened slightly. Erik ran his hand down her cheek, gathering up some of the wetness and sighed contentedly when she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

"She's gone, Erik," Christine said, after a time. "Mamma… she is dead."

The declaration spawned a whole new round of crying and Erik gathered her up once again. After a few more minutes of this, he swung her up into his arms and carried her from the room.

**I suppose I could say that it made Erik and I closer, but I really think it was the events that followed that are more responsible. I know I've mentioned it before, but I have always believed that the reaction is more important than the cause. **

Exploring the empty flat and the pile of documents on the table had given the daroga a fairly good idea of what had happened. When he saw his friends emerge from the room, he was able to approach them with a clearer understanding of what was going on.

"I'm taking my wife home, daroga," Erik said. His voice was calm and displayed an odd combination of contentment and concern.

Christine's head popped up suddenly from its position on Erik's shoulder. "We can't leave," she protested, "There are still things that must be done here. There is paperwork to sign and I need to figure out what to do with the house and Mamma's things and---"

Erik interrupted her, setting her on her feet. "Tell me what you want, Christine, and I will see to it."

Her eyes darted around and a perplexed look crossed her face. Erik stroked her cheek and clarified, "I mean it, Christine. I see how much Mme. Valerius meant to you. You should not have to concern yourself with legal matters when you are grieving. Do you want this house? We can keep it exactly like this forever, you know. I can do anything your heart desires."

"No," she said quickly, "No, get rid of it. Sell it all or give it away… it doesn't matter. I can't live in the past forever. I'll always remember Mamma, but she wouldn't have wanted me to keep some sort of shrine to her memory."

Erik nodded. He knew this was a big step for Christine; she had pined over her father for years and he only assumed he would be in for a similar run this time around. He had already resolved in his heart that he would be there for her every step of the way, but it was a testament to her growth that she would be willing to part with all of these belongings so soon.

The daroga stepped forward, "I can take care of all that if you like," he offered, glad to have something to do.

Erik nodded once more in silent thanks to his friend. Then he turned back to Christine. "Are you sure? Is there anything at all that you wish to take with you?"

Christine thought for a moment before running back up to Mamma's room. She had forgotten her diary on the nightstand so she snatched it up and tucked Mamma's letter inside it.

"I'm ready now," she said, still sniffling.

"That's my brave girl," Erik murmured, using his handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

**Erik's friend from Persia has been wonderful. He took care of everything. In fact, he made it so all I had to worry about for the next few days was my own grief and reconnecting with my husband. He even arranged a small memorial service, since I was not present for the funeral.**

Christine's movements were somewhat hollow as Erik led her from the parlor. He kept her hand gently in his and she followed him listlessly out the door.

Once she was situated on the horse, with Erik pressed behind her, she sprung to life with a surge of frantic energy. She threw her arms around him, clinging to him like a monkey.

"Don't leave me! Please don't leave me!" she cried, resting her head on his shoulder and hiding her face against his neck.

Erik was confused. He started to reply and remind her that _she_ was the one who left _him_, but he thought better of it.

"Darling wife… why do you say these things? Has Erik shown any signs of letting you go? What sense would it be for me to leave you now?"

"I don't know…" she sobbed, "it's just… it's just that everyone I love seems to abandon me. I don't understand it. It isn't fair."

The mention of love--even in such a round-a-bout way--made the masked man tense. _Dare I hope?_

"What are you saying, Christine?" he asked urgently, "What do you mean by that?"

Briefly, Christine lifted her head and looked at him as if he were an idiot.

"Haven't you been listening?" she said with exasperation before returning to her earlier position on his shoulder, "I mean that I don't want you to leave me!"

Erik was not sure what to think about this. Actually, all thought entirely seemed to flee his mind at the feeling of her lips, which moved against the skin of his throat as she spoke her desperate pleas. He shuddered, but allowed on arm to snake around her waist securely while the other maintained his grip on the reigns.

"Never, child," he assured her.

**Erik, for his part, has been more attentive than ever. The only time he is not by my side is when I am in the washroom and he all but carries me wherever I'm trying to go. **

**It's a different type of attention though--less obsessive and controlling. It is gentler, as if my best interest is behind it rather than his compulsion to be near me. I don't know, it's difficult to describe.**

**Actually, this new attention is something I don't mind as much. I can see that Erik needs this time just as much as I do. I even found myself seeking his touch more. For someone who has grown up in a home full of hugs and caresses, I had forgotten how calming it can be. Recently, when I sense Erik trying to catch my eye, I have this overwhelming impulse to go over and settle against his shoulder or onto his lap. After some consideration, I decided to give in and, on several occasions, I've woken up still in his arms after being lulled to sleep by his heartbeat of subtle humming. Strangely, the sensation was far more welcome and comforting than I would have found it months ago. **

**Oh! I almost forgot. I wanted to talk about the service.**

Christine took Erik's extended hand and stepped up into the carriage. She hadn't wept in earnest like she had the day Erik had found her at Mamma's house, but her grief was still apparent in her quiet demeanor and the reflective tears that seemed to escape from time to time.

Erik watched her for a few moments as the carriage hustled along the old roads to the hotel they were staying at. They had opted not to make the trip to Perros-Guirec in one day, preferring to stay overnight and allow Christine some time to rest and visit her father's grave as well.

**For all his devotion, Erik could not bring himself to get out of the carriage. I am not offended though; I had the daroga to lean on, anyway. He is a good man. Erik is lucky to have him as a friend. **

**At any rate, I am thankful enough that Erik made the trip with me; I know how difficult it is for him to venture out into public. When he made the decision to stay the night in town, he took the liberty of renting out the entire inn. It was a small establishment, but I'm sure the cost was substantial. I imagine he would have cleared out the whole town if he could. Erik values his privacy above all else. **

His heart went out to the girl as she refused to meet his gaze, her body trembling as her resolve to steady her emotions slipped.

As they were coming up on the hotel, Erik finally spoke.

"What can I do?" he asked softly, reaching out to take her hands.

"Just…" she breathed wearily, "Just tell me I'm yours, Erik."

**The funeral itself was difficult for me. I always pictured these services taking place on cold, drizzly days. The weather should match the occasion, I'd say. That is how it was for Father. **

**But no, it was a beautiful, sunny afternoon. The perfect day. From the carriage, I saw couples walking arm in arm, undoubtedly on some lazy afternoon stroll or heading off to a picnic. It irked me that everyone else could be so happy. I know it's irrational, but I think I believed that everyone should be as morose as I was. For the rest of the world, though, life went on as normal. Suddenly I felt very alone. **

**I looked to Erik for comfort, once again. I felt this indescribable need to belong to someone or something. I needed to know that someone would always be there for me. **

**For all his faults, Erik has always been that person.**

Erik released a growl low in his throat. His hold on her hands tightened and he pulled swiftly, fluidly maneuvering her across the seat and into his lap.

She gasped and looked questioningly into his eyes.

"Close your eyes, Christine," he commanded.

Christine's eyes fluttered closed and Erik removed his mask. Something about her helpless plea had released him from his hesitancy and he pressed his lips against hers. One hand buried in her hair while the other rested against her neck as he kissed her desperately. He was unsure and inexperienced as he had never truly kissed a woman before, but he allowed instinct to take over and groaned into her mouth when he felt her begin to respond.

The carriage rolled to a sudden halt and the driver knocked on the side, signaling that they had reached their destination.

Erik pulled away reluctantly. "Keep your eyes closed," he rasped as he tied his mask back into place.

He led her into the hotel and towards their room hastily, causing Christine to run to keep up with his purposeful strides.

"Erik!" she panted, "What's going on?"

He stopped abruptly and looked at her with glittering eyes.

"It is time." he said simply.

And Christine knew what that meant.

**We came together as a real married couple that night. That sounds silly to say, but I have to think of some pleasant euphemism to keep me from blushing at what is a very unladylike topic to write about. **

**I don't know what I expected, but I found myself completely surprised. It was awkward and painful and all-around uncomfortable for us both. Afterwards, though, he held me close and stroked my hair the way I like. **

**It felt strange to be held so close after such a moment. Strange but good. His skin, his hands, his lips are so very cold--unnaturally so--but his heart is warm. I can sense the heat just as I can feel it beating when I rest my head on his chest. It is a very safe feeling. **

When Christine kissed his mask for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening, Erik finally had a revelation. When Christine had said that the mask did not matter to her, she had truly meant it. She would kiss his face, mask or no mask. It really, honestly made no difference to her. Slowly, giving her ample time to stop him, Erik removed his mask and set it on the night stand. Then he allowed his tears to flow, unhindered, into her golden hair, still splayed over his shoulder.

Tightening his arm about her, Erik tenderly repeated the words he had growled only moments before.

"You are mine, Christine. You have always belonged to me and you _will_ always belong to me. I will never leave you… nor will I let you go. You are mine forever."

Christine sighed. She had all the reassurance she needed.

**I do not regret anything about that night. Quite the contrary, actually. I feel different now. Clingy, almost--without the bad connotation. **

**I know what it is. I love him. I truly do. **

**I'm not sure when I had fallen in love with him. Maybe that's the problem: I never fell in love with him. I understand now what Mamma meant about not falling in love. The love I have for Erik is not the kind that you fall into. Rather, it's the kind that sneaks up on you while you're arguing over toast and jam. **

**I think he needs to know. We have much to discuss, but I believe it is important I tell him this. **

**First, though, there is something else I have been thinking about. Something I want to try, if you will. I can't explain now though. Erik is looking this direction--I think he wants my attention. I'll write about it later, dear journal.**

**Until then,**

**Christine**


	39. Chapter 39

**Journal,**

**Last night was interesting, as that was when I put my little plan into action. I say 'plan', but that sounds a little too devious, like 'plot'. Really it was nothing of the sort. **

"Erik,"

"Yes, my darling," he answered, looking up from his newspaper and smiling from behind the mask. He extended his palm to her, silently inviting her to join him. Readily, she complied.

Christine moved to stand behind his chair. She rested her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head, looking over his shoulder in the process.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

"Ah, this? Nothing of importance." Actually, he had been reading the papers more often recently, hoping to catch a note about Comte Raoul de Chagny rejoining the navy or leaving the country. He had planned nothing further against the boy, but still, it would make him feel better to know he was half a world away.

He set the paper aside and stood, gently urging Christine in front of him. He placed on hand on her hip and let the other run lazy lines up and down her side.

Christine smiled at this. Ever since their night spent in the utmost sort of familiarity, he seemed more comfortable in expressing his affection to her. Occasionally, while she bustled about the kitchen or reached up to retrieve a book in the library, he would venture to rest a possessive hand against her stomach or the curve of her hip.

**It sometimes amazes me how the extreme of frustration can result in the loss of modesty. I, for example, am about to write about sex. While I am blushing furiously even as I write this, I have realized how silly it is of me to be so terribly modest within the secrecy of my own journal. After all, it is not as if I can talk of such things openly--and where else can I turn to sort out my thoughts? **

"Are you alright?" he asked suddenly, backing away from her with narrowing eyes. He took both of her hands and proceeded to look over her as if searching for some visible illness. "Do you need to sit down?"

"I'm _fine_, Erik," she assured him. Ever since that night, Erik had been especially concerned about her.

He was aware that he had hurt her. Though she tried to hide it, he heard her soft cry and saw the tears welling up in her eyes. His own sense of self-loathing had increased tenfold at the reminder that his love for her always seemed to cause her pain. He would not have been able to continue then, had her reassuring smile not urged him on.

When he led her to the sofa anyway, she silently refused to sit on the cushion beside him, preferring to sit at his feet with her head resting on his knee--a mutually understood request for him to play with her hair. When she felt his cool hands rake through her hair she sighed and closed her eyes.

"You seem tired, Christine. Perhaps you should rest."

Christine looked up with incredulous eyes and an amused mouth. "Erik," she asked, "how many hours do you sleep each day? On average."

"Three… perhaps four," he answered cautiously, "Why do you ask?"

"And you have lived this way for your whole life?"

"Most of it, yes. What does it matter?"

"Well," she smirked, "If you have survived your entire life on a few hours of sleep each night, what makes you think that I need a nap every four minutes? I am not an invalid, you know."

He chuckled. "I know, and I'd do well not to forget it. Still, I worry about you. Especially after…"

"I know," she interrupted. "But I'm fine, honestly. Anyway, there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about..." she trailed off, unsure how to continue.

"Why, Christine! I don't ever think I've seen you blush so much. What ever could you want to talk about?"

She stood, now bright red. "Never mind…" she muttered from behind her hands, peeking through her fingers in embarrassment. "I--I can't say." she finally choked out before fleeing from the room.

_Christine, you coward,_ she thought. _That didn't go well at all._

**You see, it occurred to me that the concept of sex and marriage is a strange one. A woman lives her entire life reminded that such activities are absolutely off-limits. Then, because two words are spoken to a priest, everything changes. Suddenly, what was forbidden is now mandatory! Perhaps I am alone in this. Perhaps every other woman is better than I, but I find it a struggle to change twenty years of thinking overnight. No wonder it had been awkward for us!**

Erik decided to indulge her a while longer. Obviously the girl was embarrassed about something, but he figured she would come around eventually and tell him what was on her mind. _I must be getting old,_ he thought sardonically. There was a time when he would have stormed into her chamber and demanded she talk to him. _I'm losing my touch,_ he sighed. It wasn't, he realized, necessarily a bad change.

However, when supper time came and she was still avoiding him, he found himself growing annoyed. When he pounded on her door, insisting she come out and eat, she slipped under his arm, her form nearly blurring as she darted to the table.

Dinner was a silent and awkward affair, as neither one of them ate. Erik's eyes bored into Christine and she took interest in anything and everything that kept her from looking her seething husband in the eye, all the while blushing and biting her lower lip.

**I am suddenly reminded of a strange conversation I had one night with Mamma Valerius. While not normally a drinker, she had her moments, and inebriation seemed to have the effect of enlightening the dear woman about the absurdities of life. **

"I'm home, Mamma," Christine called, hanging up her shawl and releasing her hair from its pigtails.

"Come--come in here, Christine," Mamma replied, hiccupping. "Come see your Mamma V in the kitchen."

Christine winced. She had hoped to sneak up to her room quietly. Closing her eyes, she wished that Mamma would not be cross with her for coming in so late.

Mamma was seated at the kitchen table, her face bright red and her eyes glittering. _Drat! _Christine thought, _she must be furious! _She braced herself for the upcoming lecture. _What were you thinking, staying out so late? You worried us half to death! And what about your poor father? You know he's not well… why would you add more stress to his poor heart? _

"Here, here, Christine," she beckoned, shaking a nearby chair a little more violently than she intended. The noise seemed to startle the old woman and she patted the table top instead. "Come sit by me."

"You missed dinner," she accused, pointing a bony finger at Christine and scowling.

Her face brightened again almost instantaneously. "But--" she hiccupped again, "But, I have saved you some cookies!"

Mamma rose from the table, knocking down a chair, and shuffled to the kitchen, returning with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.

Christine found herself equally disturbed and amused by the glazed look in Mamma Valerius' eye. Still, she had the feeling that the old woman would be highly embarrassed at having been seen in such a state. She made the prudent decision to make a hasty exit and save them both a bit of dignity.

"Thank you, Mamma," she said cheerfully, "I am so very tired though; I think I will take these up to my room." She picked up the cookies and milk from the table and made to leave.

Alas, it could not be so easy.

"Christine, do you know what happens between a man and a woman?" Mamma asked as if the sudden turn was only natural in a conversation.

Christine gulped. "Of course I do, Mamma," she replied flippantly.

Actually, this was a lie. As she was only thirteen--and a naïve thirteen at that--Christine hadn't the slightest idea what happened between men and women. At some point she had asked where babies came from; she had received some answer about storks or cabbages or some other strange thing but had never thought to question it.

However, she did have enough sense to realize that this was _not_ the conversation she wanted to be having right now.

"Very well," Mamma said uncertainly. "But, just remember that you must only sleep with your husband because it is dirty and evil. We should only subject things that are dirty and evil to the ones we love the most. What the devil kind of sense is that, I ask you!"

Then she broke out in the oddest bout of giddy laughter Christine had ever seen. Not that it mattered, Christine was so uncomfortable, not only by the rude language but also by the fact that Mamma was saying it. She eyed the door longingly.

Then she heard a thump and the laughter stopped abruptly. Mamma had fallen asleep right there at the table.

Whispering a prayer of thanks, she quickly exited the room.

**I hadn't known what she was talking about, at the time. But now, I see that she may have had a point. **

"Well, Christine?"

"Well what?"

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what"

"Tell me what has had you acting so strangely today."

"Strangely?"

"Don't play innocent with me. You have been darting around… avoiding my gaze… not to mention blushing and… giggling. Yes, giggling. Don't think I haven't heard you. "

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. And what are you doing in my bedroom?"

"No more games, Christine--and it's _our_ bedroom now, my _dear_. You are going to tell me or I am going to make you tell me."

"You wouldn't dare! Right, then… I suppose you would. Well, you see, I have been thinking… that is, something has been bothering me… well, not bothering me per se… but I was wondering if I could… if you would let me--"

"Out with it, Christine! No more of this insufferable feminine modesty. It's irritating and I haven't the patience for it. I _swear_ I won't report you to the social-propriety police for speaking candidly to your own husband in your own home. Now, out with it! You want me to let you… what?"

"Let me touch you?"

**At any rate, I think the problem may be well on its way to being solved. I have--rather, had--never seen a man unclothed before. Odd, I know, what with spending so much time with performers, but it is the truth. Erik is not a kind man, by any stretch of the word, but I believe that he loves me and he patiently indulged my curiosity. Not that it seemed a great sacrifice on his part. **

If she wasn't so nervous, she would have found this infinitely amusing. Here they were, completely undressed, sitting on opposite sides of the bed with their backs to each other, each afraid to turn around.

"Are you sure about this?"

Christine smiled. "Are you?" she asked.

"No… but… continue…"

Taking her cue, she turned and faced him, taking in the sight of his back in the dim light. She could make out lightly raised scars and this ribs and spine jutting out from his impossibly thin frame. If she did not know him so well, she might be tempted to think him frail. But she knew that was only a trick of the eyes. Even his skeletal form, when fully clothed and towering over her, radiated power and strength. She figured it was just one of the many idiosyncrasies that made her husband so interesting.

She ran her hands over his back, gently massaging his shoulders and willing them both to relax. Eventually, it worked and Erik found himself on his back, staring in uncomfortable wonder as his wife explored him.

She was truly a sight to behold, Erik marveled. Her unbound hair fell gloriously over her shoulders and her fevered skin seemed to glow in the low light. Slowly and methodically, she examined him… sometimes with loving caresses and sometimes with an almost clinical curiosity. Erik was patient, though it took every ounce of his strength to be so. _She needs this_, he told himself, forcing himself not to surge forward and turn the tables.

Apparently satisfied with the curious foreplay which had left them both panting, she rose up and pressed her cheek to his chest. She loved his chest, she decided. His hands… his lips… they were all so cold. But his chest remained warm and she could hear--even _feel_--his heart beating.

When she pressed a gentle kiss over his heart, Erik had had enough. With a growl from him and a squeal from her, he flipped them over.

"Be ready, little one," he hissed, losing all hint of his previous apprehension.

**Still, it helped. Everything seems, somehow, less terrifying--less foreign. **

Erik was in awe of the little woman in his arms. She was so beautiful and so perfect and so undeniably _his_. Somehow the heavens had smiled upon him for once in his life and the sweet angel had actually married him.

_However did this happen?_ he wondered.

The answer, though, struck him painfully.

_How quickly you have forgotten, you fool!_ his conscience spat back at him, _You _forced _her to marry you! She is not here of her own will, you blackmailed her into staying with you. You threatened and frightened her._

_But she looks so happy! It was hard at first… but she seems so content._

_Can you blame her for trying to make the best of a horrible situation? Believe me, she doesn't want you in the slightest… not for real, anyway. _

Suddenly, Erik could no longer stand to look at her. Every moment in the same room with her was a painful reminder of what he had done. He needed to leave… to find refuge in his music, which had always been his and had never rejected him.

Christine frowned when he left the bed. _Have I done something wrong?_ She wondered.

She pondered this for some time and debated whether or not to go after him. She waited to hear if he had gone to his music room… the elegant strains of his compositions usually gave her a good idea of his mood.

When over an hour of silence had passed, she got up and dressed, determined to seek him out.

**With all the new experiences and such, it was actually what happened afterwards that is most important. **

Erik glared at the keyboard; he had been sitting at the piano for over an hour but he seemed completely unable to play. Once again, he placed his hands over the keys and thought about what to play, but again nothing happened. It was as if his fingers refused to press down on the keys.

"Euterpe, do you despise me too?" he sighed. It was decided--even music had rejected him.

In his despair, he vaguely registered a light knock on the door followed by the soft creak of the hinges as it opened.

"Erik?" Christine said, setting her lamp upon the table. It barely gave off enough illumination to see by, but she could make out the dark silhouette of her husband, hunched over the piano.

For a long moment, neither spoke and Christine wondered if she should say something else to break the silence.

Before she could finish the thought, though, Erik spoke up.

"I am not a good man, Christine," he said in slow, measured words. She started to protest but he stopped her with a motion of his hand. He turned slightly so his back was not to her but he still did not look in her eyes.

"It is true, we both know it. I am not a good man and it is unlikely that I ever will be."

He took a shuddering breath before he continued. "But… when I met you… Oh Christine, it was the first time I felt like a _man_ at all. It is nothing you said or did… it was just _you_. Something about you made me feel like less of an abomination or a… freak… and more like a real man. A normal man just like everybody else. Suddenly, all those things I had resigned myself against long ago seemed… well, possible… For the first time, I thought that I _could _have a wife and a house and a _life_ just like any other man. I never thought I cared for such things… but when I met you I wanted it… I wanted it all so badly that I would do anything to have it."

He sighed again, his thin shoulders rising in a dejected way that made Christine want to run up and hold him. She resisted, though, instinctively knowing somehow that such a gesture would not be appreciated.

He gave another long pause, as if the words he wished to say refused to leave his mouth. When he spoke, his smooth voice was strained and tense.

"I have done you a great wrong, Christine. I took away you choice and stole your life. I am too ashamed even to ask for your forgiveness… but I will tell you this--if you wish to leave, I will not stop you. If you wish to go back to that… boy… I give you that option. Or, if you have decided that you don't want him… I can give you enough money to live comfortably on your own. You can go anywhere, Christine, and I will trouble you no longer."

**Yes, I confessed my feelings. I know it hasn't been long since I realized them myself, but once I had admitted it in my own mind, every second of keeping it to myself seemed like an eternity. It took me so long to come to the conclusion… why should I wait to share it. **

"Some gentleman you are," she scoffed, though not unkindly, "You take me against my will and as soon as I fall in love with you, you send me away!"

**I suppose, if I am honest, that I am the slightest bit disappointed with my delivery. I had planned some romantic setting with just the right preface to do justice to those three words. But, eloquent as always, I ended up just blurting it out in the most un-romantic fashion. **

"What did you say?" Erik whispered. His eyes were wide and glowing in the darkness.

"You heard me," she answered softly.

"Say it again."

"I love you."

**Then again, Erik did not seem to mind. I believe my revelation did have the desired effect, after all. **

Just then, Erik began to cry. They were not the loud tears that he had wept so many times in anger and frustration. It was not the horrible sound that had frightened Christine so many months ago.

Actually, it was scarcely a sound at all. The only thing she heard was his ragged breathing as she watched his back and shoulders tremble in broken shudders. She lay a hand on his head, stroking his baby-fine hair. He seemed more vulnerable to her then than ever before.

Then came the side of Erik that she recognized. He dropped to his knees and clutched at her robe like a lifeline, kissing the hem. He panted and whispered words of desperate affection--the type of words that once repulsed and terrified Christine but now made her smile.

"None of that," she chided, pulling at his arms and forcing him to stand. "You have no business there on the floor--and don't argue with me because it won't get you anywhere."

When he was on his feet and looking down at her once again, he looked at her in wonder. He reached out as if to touch her but his hands merely hovered in the air around her.

"Are you real?" he breathed.

"Come back to bed with me," she answered, prepared to prove it.

**Life is promising for us. I never thought I would say that. The cynical side of me says that this is some bad omen of things to come… that life simply cannot be this good. I try to shush those feelings. **

Erik lay, once again, curled up with his wife with a stupid grin on his face as he stared , through the darkness, up at the ceiling.

Whether it be the emotion of the moment or the old adage that practice makes perfect, he could not say. Somehow, though, he had managed to please his wife as much as she pleased him. It was a good feeling.

A couple of times he'd had to check and make sure his heart was still beating. He was sure Christine would kill him soon if she kept surprising him like this. Still, he hoped she would.

He looked down on her, snuggled against his bare chest, drooling slightly. In her sleep, she tightened her grip on him and sighed.

"mine…" she murmured.

Just then, Erik started to laugh. She was sounding more like him every day.

**Perhaps I just cannot allow myself to be truly happy. I think my husband must be rubbing off on me. **

**Well, until something interesting comes about,**

**Christine**

* * *

**A/N: Not done yet, but soon. Thanks for hanging in there... I had a super gi-huge-ic research project on Handel's Messiah. You know how it is... real life and all. Anyway, I'll try to do better.**


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: So I would've had this earlier... but my pet rabbit chewed through one of my computer cables. I know... it's not quite as bad as 'my dog ate my homework'... but it's the truth. Anyway, enjoy.****

* * *

Dear Journal,**

**The funny thing about a woman's intuition is there is often a bit of truth to it. Here I am, reading over some of my old entries and I see that only a few days a go I mentioned the foreboding feeling that my content little life could not remain so forever. **

**I suppose you are wondering just what I mean by that, my journal. Well, I shall tell you. It all started with a letter.**

**Actually it started before the letter. Erik refused to let me out of the house today. We argued--in a fashion--but in the end he left without me. **

"Erik, I wish to go out today." Christine said with more confidence than she felt. Despite the quick progress their relationship had made over the last few days, Erik was still hesitant to let his wife out of his sight… much less his house.

"No," he said simply, not looking up from the sketch he was making of her.

"Why not?" she asked, mood quickly turning sour. She folded her arms and huffed angrily.

"Stop moving!" he snapped, quickly rising from his stool to reposition her. "Hold still, woman! You are ruining the light."

"Well, answer my question then."

"You may not go because I do not wish it."

"You can't control me!"

Putting down his charcoal, Erik narrowed his eyes. "What--of all that you have seen, read, or experienced--has given you the idea that a man does not control his wife? Honestly, I don't know where you are getting these ideas. "

Christine scowled; he had her there. Erik had deliberately withheld any ladies' magazines and books about proper home life--he liked her sharp and argumentative side (he just didn't like it when she won those arguments)--but Christine did have enough knowledge of the world to know that this was the way of things. Still, she wasn't happy about it.

"Erik, you are being unreasonable…"

"And you are being childish! Now. Hold. Still."

Christine let a few tears loose to silently trail down her face. Just because she had curbed her manipulative side didn't mean she had forgotten how to play the game.

After a moment, when Erik glanced up from his sketch, he saw her pained expression and immediately berated himself for upsetting her. However, he wasn't about to apologize… he was right, damn it.

"Why is it so important for you leave me today?" he sighed.

Christine chewed her lip while she thought of an appropriate answer. Most possibilities ran the risk that he would read too far into them or, worse, take offense.

"I was hoping to buy some flowers. You know… just to lighten the room up a bit. Perhaps you can even use them in your drawings…"

Erik relented slightly, "A compromise then… I will take you out later tonight."

Inwardly, Christine grinned in triumph. Outwardly, she pouted. She'd teach Erik to control _her _every move!

"What is wrong, now?" Erik groaned. He put away his charcoal and paper; the picture was ruined anyway.

"The flower shop will be closed by then…" she bemoaned "and, even if it's open, everything will be wilted!" she added with the same tone of horror that one usually associated with accidents involving fire.

Erik stared at her for a long time as if trying to see inside her female brain. Abruptly, he stood and swept towards the door, catching his cloak on the way.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Christine managed to say before he left.

"Flowers, my darling. I shall return shortly."

Then he disappeared out of the little house, leaving Christine scowling in the doorway. She crossed her arms. This is not at all what she had expected. It seems as if Erik had caught onto her little game. _Blast!_ She hated losing.

**I realize that our little argument had less to do with my wish to breathe some fresh air (though it would be nice right about now) and more to do with the fact that Erik still does not trust me. I know we have been through much and I even confessed my feelings, but there was still that shred of him that was afraid to believe it. **

**I admit, I was frustrated. I felt as if I had already proven countless times that I would stay with him and yet he still would not trust me! **

**I suppose I should consider myself lucky that I would have yet another chance to prove it. Well, I shall wait to determine whether it was fortunate or not… I may very well have done more harm than good. **

**Oh right! I have forgotten the explanation! Forgive me for digressing. Anyway, about the letter:**

After Erik had been gone for nearly three quarters of an hour, Christine was startled to hear the alarm bell ring.

As unaccustomed as they were to guests, Christine was understandably wary. Suddenly, she regretted sending Erik out on that pointless errand.

_Perhaps I'm just imagining things_, she thought just seconds before the bell rang a second time.

Nervous thoughts began to flutter through Christine's mind and she started to panic. She dropped onto the corner of the sofa and hugged a pillow against her and, with her free hand, she snatched the candlestick off to end table. Comforted by her feeble protections, Christine deliberately slowed her breath and began to rationalize.

_You're being paranoid, Christine._

_Oh really? Erik is away… there is no one guarding this place. _

She squeaked and held the cushion tighter when the bell sounded again, this time followed by a light tapping.

_That doesn't mean someone is here to murder you. It could be anybody._

_We don't exactly see many salesmen around here! What was Erik thinking keeping me down here in a place like this? That settles it, we're moving. This is absolutely ridiculous! I am not living in a house where I panic every time someone comes calling. _

_Try to ignore it. You know Erik has traps set all over this place. Surely by now whoever it is has fallen into one and you can tell Erik to rescue them when he gets home. _

For a moment, Christine's mind assuaged. In the silence she concentrated on her own heartbeat and breath, trying to keep them controlled. However, after only a few moments of peace, the bell rang a forth time… this time accompanied by an urgent pounding on the door. She thought she could hear shouting as well.

_Alright. _Now_ you may panic. _

**The daroga came by while Erik was away. He wished to check on me, I presume to make sure Erik hadn't gone completely insane and killed us both. (What a dreadful thing to joke about! I do not know what has come over me. I must remember to stop listening to Erik. That man is working his way inside me, bit by bit.) **

The Persian steadily tracked his way down to the fifth cellar, easily maneuvering around the traps and detours Erik had erected to protect his domain. His frequent trips through the dungeons during Erik's short convalescence had left him with an expert understanding of the cellar's layout and the location of any deterrents.

That is not to say, however, that he was the slightest bit lax in his vigilance. It would be just like Erik to think up new and more exciting ways to kill trespassers, employing them in a cellar that hardly anybody descends, _just in case._

The Persian chuckled with a certain, twisted fondness. It was not really paranoia on Erik's part--actually, Erik was possibly the most arrogant person he had ever met and would probably take a sick joy in allowing someone to wander all the way into his lair, letting them succeed just a little before killing them himself.

Rather, Erik built these things simply because he could. It was like a sort of hobby he had taken to during his time in Persia. _De gustibus non disputandum est, _he decided. Some men hunt, some men gamble, some men build real, working death-traps inside their home.

Nevertheless, it would not do for him to be caught in such an experiment. Hence, the caution.

He was quite surprised, actually, when he reached the main entrance without his life flashing before his eyes. He was doubly surprised to notice that he had made it so far without Erik stepping out to 'greet' him.

_I wonder what the old skeleton is up to? _he thought as he triggered the door alarm. Undoubtedly he had already activated a number of alarms on his way down, but he thought he'd humor the man and ring anyway. It always struck him as amusing that Erik's door possessed a knocker and a little bell for one to ring. It was so… civilized… considering how unlikely it was that anyone ever made it down here alive.

The Persian frowned when nobody answered the door. _Very odd, indeed._ he thought. He reached for the skull-shaped door knocker and gave it a few raps.

Still no answer.

Now the daroga began to worry. His mind raced with dreadful thoughts of all the horrible things Erik could have done to Christine. _Perhaps he has killed her and then himself! I never should have left her alone down here!_

"Christine! Erik! Open up!" he shouted, pounding his fist on the door.

When there was still no answer, he pulled a tool kit out of his coat pocket. He held his lantern up to the handle of the door, wondering just how complicated Erik had built this lock.

**Anyway, when he visited, he bore a letter from Raoul to me.**

In reality, the lock was not very complex at all. Apparently that was another of Erik's peculiarities, attaching an absolutely normal door as the main entrance to his nearly impenetrable fortress.

Actually, after Erik's discovery of Christine's lock picking talent, he had fashioned a lock on the outside of the door that was much more intricate than the one on the inside. But that is neither here nor there.

Just as soon as the daroga had pried open the lock, he was bombarded with what seemed to be couch cushions.

"What the devil--" he cried, throwing up his hands. He would never had expected that sort of greeting.

"YOU GET OUT OF----Oh! It is only you, daroga. I am terribly sorry. What were you thinking, frightening me like that?"

"Forgive me, Madame, I… well, I thought something terrible had happened."

They merely stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily and staring at each other uncomfortably.

"This is… awkward."

"Indeed."

"Well, Monsieur, perhaps you would be so good as to tell me the nature of your visit?"

"Ah! Yes, that's right. Well my purpose is twofold. First… well, forgive me, but I wished to check on you… make sure you both are well."

"I appreciate your concern, but that hardly seems necessary."

"Madame, I respect your position as the one that Erik loves. In all honesty, I believed he was not capable of such a thing before you came along. But you must understand that I have known the man far longer than you. He and I have a… history, of sorts. I daresay I feel a certain responsibility for him."

Christine looked at him skeptically, unsure of whether to be angry or thankful. He did have a point… or at least allude to one… and she was not so naïve as not to see it. Erik had made great strides since that night when she chose to save those lives and marry him. He was gentle and thoughtful towards her and unnervingly attentive but that, by no means, made him harmless.

_It is true and we both know it. I am not a good man and it is unlikely that I ever will be. _

As much as she hated to admit it, Erik had spoken accurately last night. His heart was good, of that she was sure, but it was buried under nearly forty years of bitterness and rejection. Even now he seemed to have the attitude that, as long as he had Christine, the rest of the world could go up in flames tomorrow, for all it mattered. _To hell with it!_ he'd say, _Erik has Christine and music. Everyone else is inconsequential. _

No, Erik--though he loved her--remained a dangerous man. She realized that knowledge, that inspired a sense of safety with her, stirred fear into everyone else--the poor Persian, included.

"If it helps, just think of it as a man who wants to come visit his old friend every now and again. Would you do that, Christine? Would you humor an old man?"

She looked into the Persian's dark eyes, wondering if he was really as old as he looked. She wished she understood more about his relationship with her husband but the lengths he had gone through to protect her thus far proved that he did, indeed, feel a responsibility towards Erik. After all he had gone through for them, how could she deny him such a silly request, even if it only served to put his mind at ease.

"Of course, Monsieur. You are always welcome here. I am afraid, though, that you have just missed Erik. He nearly an hour ago, but I expect he'll be home soon. Do you wish to wait?"

"No, no… that won't be necessary. I'll just come by another time. Oh I nearly forgot!" he exclaimed, patting down his pockets, looking for something. With a slight gasp of discovery, he withdrew an ivory envelope from one of his coat pockets. "This is from Comte de Chagney."

"A letter?" Christine asked softly. The daroga offered it to her, but she raised her hands, stepping back and looking at it distrustfully. "I really don't---"

"Please, Madame," the Persian encouraged, holding it out to her again. "He is leaving soon. I believe he only wanted to say his goodbyes."

Slowly, Christine reached out, hesitantly taking the note as if it would bite her at any moment. When she had it she slid it into her pocket without giving it another glance.

"I thank you, Monsieur. Truly."

"And I thank you." he answered kindly, replacing the hat on his balding head.

"Thank me? Whatever for?"

"Whatever I may think of Erik… he deserves to be happy, I believe that with all my heart. I thought it impossible… but you, my dear, have made it possible. I wish you both well together."

**I still do not know what it said, though I suppose I never shall. Why, you ask? Well, naturally, because I gave it to Erik.**

Erik was tempted to take extra time with the flowers, just to press his point; but his distaste for being away from Christine won out in the end and he finished his business quickly.

It was for the best that he hadn't brought her along, he decided, as it was especially busy in town today. Alone, he could easily slip in and out of the shadows and avoid attention, for the most part. If Christine had been with him, he would have had to remain out in the open.

It was his dream to do that one day--to take a walk with his wife in daylight. He had even made a flesh-colored mask for that very purpose. But, he just couldn't seem to gather up the courage to do it… at least not yet… and not in the middle of Paris either.

Maybe some afternoon they could take a little trip to the country. _That would be nice,_ Erik thought, _We shall go in the spring, I think. Yes, the country in springtime… Christine would love that. _

With that happy thought, the phantom descended into the cellars. It did not take him long, though, to sense that something was amiss. None of his traps had sprung, but it looked as if some of his alarms had activated. He frowned, but quickened his pace. Likely it was just a large rat or something, but he did not like taking chances with Christine's safety.

**I know, it seems like I made a very poor decision indeed. Honestly, I am sitting here wondering whether or not I have made a grave error in judgment. Hopefully Raoul will not suffer any further for any imprudent choices I make from this moment forth. **

"Christine!" Erik called out as he came through the main entrance. "Christine, is everything alright?"

Christine greeted him at the doorway with a gentle smile and took the basket of flowers from his hand.

"Everything is fine, Erik. Why do you ask?"

"The alarm bells were activated… is someone here?"

Briefly, Christine considered taking a page from Erik's book and telling him exactly what he asked without offering anything more. _No, Erik, nobody is here._ But she somehow figured that would make him very, very angry. He was already not going to be happy about the daroga coming to visit his wife while she was home alone, best not add to it by being deceptive.

"Not anymore. The daroga was here, but he only just left."

Erik's eyes glowed in irritation. "That idiot, Persian… no doubt he wanted to make sure I haven't drowned you in the lake or some other nonsense…"

"Erik! That is a horrible thing to say!"

"Ah, but it is a truthful thing to say," he retorted, unapologetic.

"You don't know that."

"Do I not? Perhaps you know him better than I… Come now, Christine, can you even tell me the old man's first name? Ah… I thought not. Now… if you'll excuse me---"

"What did you do to Raoul, Erik?"

Erik turned, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

"Where did that come from?" he asked, avoiding the answer.

"Just tell me."

Erik did not like being commanded. He sneered, "I let him live, _Christine_. That was more than he deserved."

"Not good enough." she answered, gesturing to a chair. "Sit down, Erik, we need to talk."

She turned and locked the door. Really it was a silly thing to do, as Erik was the master of all locks and doors. He was the trap-door lover, after all. Perhaps it was a symbolic sort of gesture, that she wasn't going to let him delay this conversation any longer. _Maybe I should go get myself stabbed again,_ he mused.

"Why is this suddenly so important, my dear wife?" Well, he had to try.

"Suddenly? Oh no, Erik… I have been wanting to talk about this for ages, but _you_ keep putting me off!"

"It's is in the past, Christine…"

"Erik, how could you lock him away like that? How could you? He was my fiancé…"

"YOU WERE NEVER HIS FIANCÉE! YOU BELONGED TO ME!"

"Yes and I agreed to stay with you so that he could live!"

"And does he not? Is that miserable whelp still breathing today? I could have killed him a million times, and yet I did not… for you. And now that he lives, what will you do? Will you leave me now to go to him? Oh no, Christine, it is too late for that!"

"Don't you dare turn this around on me!" She shouted. She was crying now. _Is this all just some game to him--to twist my words and show me I have no control in the conversation?_

Suddenly exhausted, she sank to the couch and put her hands over her face. "I know you locked him away for weeks… you tortured him and held him hostage. I know that the night you came to me wounded was the same night he escaped you. You fought, and the Persian brought him out of the cellars. I have heard it all from him, but I held out judgment because I wanted to hear it from _you_. Don't you see, Erik? I wanted to believe in you… to think that your side of the story held some explanation. Why, Erik? Why did you do it? Why did you continue to hurt him even after I agreed to marry you?"

"Because---" Erik started, but then, as if the wind had been knocked out of him, he gave a pained exhalation… nearly a sob but not quite.

Softer, he said, "Because I didn't trust you. I was afraid. I thought that, once the boy was safe, at any moment you would change your mind and try to escape me. I… I couldn't lose you. And… so… I locked him away. I thought… I thought that if you wanted to… leave… I would only have to show you that I still held power over his life…"

"So you kept Raoul as collateral?" she murmured.

"It wasn't so simple as that but… yes, I suppose so. If you had tried to run I would have brought him out and threatened you with him."

"But you never needed to, did you?"

"No, I don't suppose I did."

"And do you trust me now?"

"I… Christine, I… I don't know what to say…"

Christine sighed, disappointed but unsurprised. "I thought as much," she answered. "Erik, I want you to promise me that you will not go after Raoul again. I will put this whole mess behind me… and I will pray that someday he can do the same. But you must promise me that you will not hurt him."

"What is this about, Christine?"

She sighed again, standing. From the waistband of her dress, she pulled the folded letter. "I received a letter today, Erik… from Raoul."

Erik growled and snatched it from her hand. His first impulse was to rip the hated thing to shreds and then burn it… but, then prudence dictated he read it first.

"You'll see it is unopened," Christine said, interrupting his angry thoughts. He turned it around--it was true, the seal was unbroken.

"I wanted to show you that you can trust me… that I would never do anything to hurt you… never again. I am and always will be faithful and I have nothing to hide. And I also wanted to show you that I trust _you_… I trust that you will not run off like a madman and kill him for---"

"That trust may very well be misplaced, Christine," Erik hissed, ripping open the letter.

**You see, it originally occurred to me that I should hide the letter in my wardrobe and deal with it in secret. Perhaps it has been my undoing, but I believe that I have read enough romances and poetic ironies that I just couldn't foresee that ending well. **

_Dearest Christine,_

_My love, this may be the last time I write you--at least for quite some time. My sister extended an invitation for me to join her on holiday for a few months. Under the advice of that Persian gentleman (delightful man, really. If it weren't for the company he insists upon keeping, I do believe we could be friends.), I have decided to accept. Perhaps it will give me some time to come to terms with everything and put my life back in order. What happens after that, I am not sure. Indeed, I would like to say that that is up to you, my darling. My train leaves at ten o'clock this evening. If you can meet me or send me a message before then, I shall know that I still hold your heart (as you will forever hold mine!) and you will finally allow me to rescue you from that monster forever…_

Erik skimmed the rest of the letter in distaste. It was mostly just juvenile attempts at poetry and overenthusiastic declarations of love.

The train at ten o'clock. Ten o'clock was the hour the insolent boy would be waiting for Christine to declare her infidelity. _I have a better idea Raoul de Chagny. Ten o'clock will be the hour in which you will draw your last breath!_

**And so I gave it to Erik. My hope is that the gesture was twofold: Erik will realize that he can trust me to be honest, and I can know for sure whether or not I can trust Erik to be… well, sane. This is, of course, assuming that all went to plan. As the evening lingers on and Erik is still not home, I am getting the distinct impression that this was all a bad idea that will come back to haunt me very soon. **

"Erik?" Christine asked hopefully, trying to get some clue as to what was going on.

"I am going to kill him." Erik responded, measuring each word steadily. There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice that recalled some of the controlled insanity that he had only recently buried.

"Erik, you promised!"

"Oh, little Christine, you should listen much more carefully. Erik promised nothing! Now be a good girl, and Erik will sing to you when he comes home tonight."

"No no no… this is my fault! Don't do this, Erik… please! Don't you see? Raoul holds nothing over us now, haven't I just proved that? I gave you the letter… I didn't even look at it first… doesn't that prove to you that I have chosen you… that I will _always _choose you? That… that I won't even answer the letter of my childhood friend because I know it would displease you… doesn't that mean anything?"

A flicker of… something… passed through his eyes, as if his sanity had found the littlest crack through the muck and was trying to peek out.

"Yes… yes it does, Christine…" he said softly. As he turned to leave, Christine grasped his sleeve.

"I trust you," she whispered, blue eyes pleading.

Then he left, locking the door behind him.

**Yet another digression, I admit, but as I read back over this entry, I realize how terribly cavalier I sound about what could be the end of a very dear man's life. Really, I'm not. Actually, my dear journal, if you had eyes with which to see me now, you'd see me shaking like a leaf. But, as I've said many a time, this writing seems to calm me like nothing else. I suppose I have Mamma to thank for that, God rest her soul. **

**I just wish Raoul was not in middle of it all. After all he has been through for me, that dear man deserves to live happy and unbothered by the drama that is my life. **

For hours, Erik seethed, stalking about the opera house, noting little things here and there to write the managers about.

He was furious. Still, anger was decidedly better than the alternative.

When he first read that letter, his response had been emotionless… rather, he felt a calm resolution to kill--as if the boy needed to die and he ought to kill him and that's just the way it needed to be. It was that same cold detachment that he had in Persia when he learned that there was beauty in death. It was a release, of sorts, that held him high above any sense of guilt; it allowed him to see murder as an art form, rather than what it was.

Christine's heartfelt plea brought his emotions back into it. It was as if she had restored to him some small bit of humanity. At the moment, he resented her for it.

Now he was conflicted. Life had ceased being black and white when she entered his life. He looked at his pocket watch. It was nearly nine fifteen. _No more playing theatre now, Erik. We mustn't miss our train!_

**Really, it all comes down to a choice on Erik's part. **

Erik watched the boy pace up and down the platform, anxiety practically dripping off of him. Somehow it made him feel better knowing that the boy had doubts about Christine's true feelings. She really had done a good job putting the youth off. The stubborn pup just couldn't seem to take rejection.

Erik sneered. _That is because a handsome, wealthy noble like that has never had to face rejection before. _That fact alone made Erik want to kill him.

He carefully watched the clock. It was two minutes to ten, not much longer. At the tenth toll of the clock, that wife-stealing bastard would find himself at the end of his Punjab lasso.

If only Christine's voice would stop echoing in his head.

_I trust you…_

…_doesn't that mean anything?_

Suddenly, Erik heard a scream behind him. He looked back and saw that there was some sort of scuffle happening in an alleyway. He had never before cared about the affairs of human beings… why did it suddenly interest him now?

One minute to ten.

_I trust you…_

_Don't do this… please, Erik…_

Another scream.

_Concentrate. _he told himself, _remember why you are here. Ignore all that… watch the boy. _

"Please… please don't do this!" a female voice cried out that sounded a little too like Christine for his comfort.

…_doesn't that mean anything?_

At exactly ten o'clock, he turned down the alleyway to see one man hunched over a prone figure, with another standing behind him, taunting.

Erik gave into the coldness one last time. "Yes, you will do nicely." He said wickedly.

The two turned around. "Who the hell are you?" the kneeling one barked.

Twin ropes shot out from each of the masked man's sleeves and wrapped neatly around each man's neck.

"No need to be rude, gentlemen. Erik only wants to practice his skills. We must always practice, mustn't we?"

The last thing the men would ever know was a pair of glowing yellow eyes and a cackling laughter that seemed to be coming from inside their heads.

After a few elated moments, Erik seemed to come back down to earth. This was the thrill he had remembered. And it was not tainted with the guilt that he had over…

_The boy!_

Suddenly it all sank in--how he gave up the chance to kill his rival, how he attacked two random thugs in an alley… how he was still in that alley…

He looked down at his feet to see the focus of the robbers' attentions. It was a young woman… scarcely more than a child. She was painfully thin and wore and odd sort of mismatched dress that made him wonder if she was a beggar… or a prostitute, maybe… perhaps even a gypsy of some sort. Her torn clothing was so ragged that he could not really tell.

When he looked into the woman's eyes, though, he knew that it no longer mattered what she was. He had seen death enough times to know when it was imminent. He had come too late, there would be nothing he could do to save her now. For some reason that fact disappointed him, somehow.

He knelt down beside her, watching her struggle to breathe. With a desperate burst of energy, she clasped her hand around his wrist and gestured with her eyes to a darkened corner nearby. Then, without a word, she died.

Curious, Erik went in the direction the dead woman had gestured. There he found a bundle, squirming under a dirty blanket. He pulled it back to reveal a tiny infant, wriggling and kicking its legs, and yet, not screaming as it should have been.

Erik could honestly say that this moment was one of the precious few moments when he had ever felt compassion for a member of the human race. His heart went out to the little creature. What horrors had it already experienced that it no longer cried when a violent murder occurred less than a meter away?

He bent down and picked up the child. It whimpered slightly in his hands for, though it was frozen nearly all the way through, it still felt a sensation of cold from his touch.

Out of his bitterness, he should have left it there. One less human to corrupt the world. Perhaps out of duty to the dead woman, he should take it to a church. Then at least it would have a chance.

Oddly enough, though, none of these thoughts even occurred to Erik as he tucked the little baby in his cloak, against his chest.

"Hush, little one. We must hurry home… we wouldn't want Mama to worry about us…"

**Remember how I said that the reaction is more important than the action that caused it? Well, what is done is done and now Erik's reaction will determine whether or not we will ever be able to trust each other.**

**Your friend,**

**Christine**


	41. Chapter 41

**Dear Journal,**

**He stole a baby!**

"You _stole _a baby?"

**There, now that that is all out in the open, I can continue my story. **

"I did nothing of the sort. I simply took what no one else had any use for."

"Erik, are you even listening to what you're saying? This is not some old jacket… this is a child we're talking about!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Erik snapped, louder than he intended. The child in his arms woke and squirmed. He hushed, "There, there little one. Don't pay any mind. Papa will take care of everything."

Christine arched an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Don't you realize how wrong this is? Erik, you cannot just _take_ what you want. I thought you were past kidnapping… I thought, maybe, that you had learned your lesson after kidnapping me--"

"This is nothing like that!" Remembering the baby, his voice softened, "She… she would have died… this is what is best. Only I can protect her."

Erik removed his cloak with one hand and passed the baby to Christine, who took it without hesitation and cradled it instinctively against her shoulder. Erik turned and strode purposefully into the kitchen.

For a moment, Christine thought he was trying to avoid a conversation. She followed. Overall, she was appalled by the unconcerned attitude he was displaying in a situation that was very serious, in her opinion. _He acts as if it is perfectly normal to kidnap someone against their will! Then again…_

"That's what you said about me."

Erik tilted his head the way he did when he was slightly amused by something. He was standing at the stove, heating up some milk in a pan.

"Oh now don't tell me you're still upset about all that. You really need to learn to move on, Christine. Besides, this is entirely different."

"You took her away from her home."

The milk heated and Erik tested it to make sure it was a suitable temperature. He frowned. What next? It's not like he could just put it in a glass.

"Her home was unacceptable." He said, searching the cupboard for an old bottle. Christine always kept them, much to his chagrin. She said she liked to use them as flower vases. He told her he could afford the finest crystal if she desired it, but she seemed to prefer the reused bottles. 'Why is the vase important? I'm only looking at the flowers," she'd say. Anyway, he was now glad for it. He took out a bottle and filled it with the warm milk. Then he found an unused sponge and shoved it in the top.

"That should do for now," he said absently, taking the child back from Christine. He would have to remember to go shopping tomorrow. He continued, "As I was saying—her home was unacceptable. She is better off staying here with us."

"That is _exactly_ the logic you used with me!"

"Christine, Christine. Are you going to bring that up every time we have an argument? We are happily married now. You love me and I love you. There is no need to fight about how that came to be. Besides, weren't you listening? I already said that this is nothing like that."

**Erik left to kill my ex-fiancé and returned with a baby girl. Who does that? **

"How can you honestly believe that?" Christine all but shrieked. She was absolutely livid.

"Shh, Christine! There's no need to shout. You really need to learn to control your temper."

How could he be so relaxed when she wanted to tear her hair out in frustration? Sometimes she believed he actually _enjoyed _baiting her. Maybe it would have been better for Erik to still think she was timid and afraid of her own shadow.

_No_, she decided, dismissing the thought. She could not imagine that going over well at all.

"I cannot believe that you--of all people--are accusing _me _of not keeping my temper. At least _I _haven't broken a table."

"Really, Christine, I cannot talk to you when you are like this."

Christine sighed. She thought she best stop for a bit before she said something she'd regret later.

"How do you know it's a girl, anyway?" she asked, changing the subject.

Erik looked down at the child with an odd look on his face. "Beautiful eyes…" he murmured, "That smile…" then he looked up at his wife, "I just know. However you are welcome to… check… while you're giving her bath. Do you think you can manage to find something for a diaper? I will have to do some shopping in the morning."

Christine pinched the bridge of her nose. "You can't actually be serious about this. She cannot stay with us."

"Why not?" Erik asked, genuinely confused. Why would Christine object to taking in a helpless orphan? She was an orphan herself, for heaven's sake! Perhaps she was jealous… but that was ridiculous. Surely she must know how desperately he loved her. Why should this change anything?

**I love my husband, but sometimes I don't think he thinks these things through properly. **

"Don't you think her mother might miss her?"

Erik waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. The mother was finished with her."

"Finished with--Oh Erik, you didn't!"

"Of course I didn't you silly girl. I don't go about killing women and stealing children. Why must you always think so low of me?"

**I have no doubt we'll be keeping her. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I am all for it. From what I gather (as you know, Erik is not especially good about relaying anything in its entirety), the child's true mother is dead. Even if I didn't want a child (actually, I hadn't given it much thought until just now, but I am not opposed to the idea), I am surely the last person to put an orphan out. **

**Between you and me, dear journal, I think I was attached as soon as Erik put her in my arms. She really is a sweet baby. Besides, there was just something about the expression on Erik's face when he was talking to her. **

**It's not the obsessive adoration he has in his eyes when he looks in my direction. It's simpler, gentler. Almost like the fond way he would look at a favorite pet… only much deeper than that. I cannot describe it, exactly. He looks at her as if he knows a secret that no one else is aware of.**

**But, my word! I was just so surprised that Erik could be so impulsive! **

"You can't keep doing this, Erik! You are playing with people's lives! How can you be so selfish?"

Erik's eyes flared. The accusation switched his mood in a blink. Christine stood her ground, though. She was used to Erik's quick-change behaviors. One second he was towering over her in rage, the next he was sobbing like a child at her feet.

"How _dare_ you!" he growled dangerously, "If I had been selfish, I would have killed your _beau_ this night! If I had been selfish, you would still be locked in your room, never had the chance to leave me in the first place!"

"I never left--"

"Silence! You did leave me. Never mind your intentions. You left, without my permission, to speak with that idiot boy and I had to go bring you back!"

"You know full well it wasn't like that."

"I should have killed him a thousand times by now. But I haven't… for _you_. Is that something a selfish man would have done? I restrained myself… _for you_! I did it again tonight, only to make you happy, and this is how you repay me? You accuse me and call me names and… and _nag_ me like a petulant child? Enough, Christine! Enough…"

He stormed from the room, leaving Christine blinking after him. For some time she just stood there in amazement, staring blankly at the door through which he had just passed. He hadn't killed Raoul? Had she been so caught up in the shock of the night that she had forgotten his reason for leaving in the first place?

Christine shook her head. This wasn't right. Today had been too emotional… perhaps she had been hasty with her words. She walked quietly to her room.

She needed to think.

**Actually, I was so surprised that I forgot all about Raoul. And to think, just hours ago he was all I could think about! **

**He did not kill him, by the way. I told myself that he wouldn't… but deep down I was not so sure. I should not have let my astonishment detract from the fact that he spared his life. **

Erik glared at nothing in particular as he stepped into his workshop. He hadn't really meant to go in here… it was just the closest room to the parlor and he had needed to leave quickly.

What was the matter with Christine? What had gotten into her? How dare she call him selfish! Couldn't she see that this was, perhaps, the only completely unselfish thing he had ever done in his whole life?

He hadn't spared the Count out of any sense of morality. He did it out of love for Christine. Despite the cruel things he said to her only moments ago, he had no doubt that she would have stayed with him even if he had gone through with it. But he loved her. He didn't think he could endure the look of hurt in her eyes. She would morn, not only for the boy, but for his own soul… a soul that he still wasn't sure he possessed. He didn't deserve her pity any more than he deserved her love… but he craved that adoring way she looked at him when she thought he couldn't see her. It was selfishness, perhaps… but he hadn't murdered the Count simply because he could not give that up.

Had he been a different sort of man, he would have told her about the incident in the alley. But he didn't want her to think that he had become some sort of hero. He had been selfish there as well. He killed that woman's attackers simply because he wanted to kill something and they seemed convenient. He reasoned that Christine wouldn't be angry about him snapping the necks of criminals. Saving the woman had been a secondary priority.

And the woman… he felt nothing for her. Perhaps the slightest bit of pity for her situation… but only slight.

He wondered if he could even feel pity, truly. The world had offered him none… even in his most desperate moments he was looked upon with nothing more than disdain. Even as a child, torn from his mother who walked away without a second glance. He was locked up, beaten and put on display for the amusement of others.

He was mocked and abused until he _actually believed_ he was a living corpse, as they all claimed. And not just in appearance either! He truly thought he was dead. His heart stopped beating… he soul flew away… and yet his body kept on, as if oblivious to it all. That was when the madness set in.

He knew Christine worried about how little he ate. She was such a good girl. If he could help it, she would never know why. He let her assume it was because he did not wish to remove his mask in her presence. That was a small part of it, surely, but the truth was that food turned to acid in his mouth. Every bite reminded him of a time when his only nourishment came from the scraps of food thrown at him by his sneering public. Food was bitter to him… but he ate every time he remembered to for the sole reason that it would keep him alive to love Christine just a little longer.

At least he could sleep now. Protecting Christine gave his mind something to focus on… it drove the nightmares away to have her near him. Something else she would never know.

Erik had never been taught sympathy, and so now he felt none. Christine had pitied him… she had been the first. Another man would have rejected it, insulted, but Erik treasured her all the more for it.

Perhaps Christine's compassion was what moved him to do what he did next.

True, the woman meant nothing to him. He spared her no emotion. It was a shame she had died so young, but it was her time. This is the way of things, after all. It hadn't even occurred to him to bury the body--it was just a shell anyway. He realized that he had already forgotten what she looked like--just another dead face among hundreds swirling around his twisted mind.

But the child… she was another story altogether. There was a corner of his dead heart that had been awakened by the love of his wife, and it stirred for the little one. Perhaps it was because he saw something of himself in her large, black eyes.

She hadn't cried once. Not before, in the alley, and not when he raised his voice to his wife. Erik knew that feeling well--for he too had learned it at a young age--that feeling that said there was no use crying, for no one would answer. It was a lonely, miserable feeling and he wished to take it from the little girl before it was too late.

"That's right, my beauty," Erik said softly, "Erik takes care of Christine and now he will take care of you too. Would you like that?"

If someone had done that for him, perhaps he would never have cultivated the demon inside him that Christine worked so hard to exorcise.

But, no. That was too much to hope for.

At any rate, he felt something for the little baby--a sort of kinship. And so he adopted her. Not to fill a void in his own heart--as he had when he took Christine. Not in hopes of salvation or the reconstruction of his broken soul--Christine had taken on that task as well. He took her in for no other reason than the fact that she needed him.

His first unselfish act… and Christine had taken him to task for it! Unbelievable!

**I think that Erik was honestly surprised by my reaction. I think he expected me to be praising and thanking him right now for being so merciful, instead of hiding in my room, fuming. **

**Perhaps he is right; I should have told him what a good thing he did today. I should have embraced him and told him that I loved him. I believe he needed that assurance, after everything. But instead I shouted at him and called him names. **

**I was just so startled! Of all the possible ways tonight could have played out--and I believed I had thought of them all--not once did I think he would bring home a baby. That man never ceases to amaze me.**

**I do feel bad, though. I think I owe him an apology. **

Erik sighed, leaning his masked cheek against the tiny creature, who had fallen asleep with her face pressed into his neck. He needed to stop dwelling on his argument with Christine. Later he'd go talk to her and apologize for… something. He wasn't sure exactly what for, but it seemed like a good idea. It usually helped, anyway.

He needed to quit feeding his anger. He could not afford a weakness that might let his madness creep through. Madness no longer had a place in his life. Only love. His girls would help him to banish it forever.

But, for now, he needed a distraction.

**I wonder where Erik is right now, anyway. He is probably in his music room, brooding. He likes to brood--it is a very dark and melodramatic thing to do. It seems to suit him perfectly.**

**Still, as he is in the presence of a child, I think perhaps I should check on him. **

**I'll return in a moment.**

Christine took a peek at the clock before she left her room. It was nearly three in the morning. Had so much time really passed? She grew concerned, wondering what Erik could be up to.

It unnerved her that, as she walked down the hall, she couldn't hear any music. That seemed to be his activity of choice when he was upset. Maybe he was angrier than she realized. She quickened her pace, hoping he hadn't gone and done something destructive.

Her brow furrowed when she opened the door to his music room and saw that he was not in there.

"Erik?" she called out softly, hoping he had gone into the library. Still nothing. _What could he be up to?_

When Christine entered his workshop, she gasped. There, among all his gadgets and building designs, was a small wooden crib. It was beautifully crafted, despite the short time he had to spend on it. She could see that parts were yet unfinished; he had begun to carve designs into the headboard and the legs, while sturdy, were not sanded into smoothness like the rest of it. Gently, she reached out and ran a finger over the protective railing.

On the other side of the room, she heard a soft snore. She turned and pressed both hands to her mouth, willing her eyes not to tear up.

Erik was lying, spread out over the small sofa, fast asleep. One leg hung of the side and the other draped uncomfortably over the arm rest. His mask was askew and a hammer hung loosely from his left hand.

The baby was sleeping peacefully against his chest. She was scrubbed clean and wearing… _is that a pillowcase? It used to be anyway. _Christine smiled fondly. It seemed they did have quite a bit of shopping to do, after all.

The two looked so content, the baby sprawled out against his chest with one arm curled under her cheek, scrunching her face up adorably, and Erik with his free hand settled over the child's back to keep her from slipping.

As much as she hated to disturb them, she thought it would be best for them to get some real sleep for the night. Very carefully, she extracted the child from her husband's arms. The baby wiggled, making soft noises, clearly irritated about being disturbed.

"Shh, darling." she cooed, kissing the top of her head and setting her in the crib. "We must let Papa get some rest."

Then she knelt beside the couch and smiled down at her husband. She expected him to wake, but he slept on. _He must be exhausted! I have never seen him sleep so soundly!_ Very carefully, she removed his mask and shoes.

"You are a good man, Erik, whether you realize it or not." she murmured, covering him with a blanket. She kissed his forehead and blew out the lamp. "Goodnight, dear heart. I love you."

**You know, suddenly I get the feeling that everything is going to be just fine. We'll work out the details in the morning. For now, just know that I am a very lucky woman, indeed.**

**Love always,**

**Christine.**


	42. Chapter 42

**Dear Journal,**

**In these entries it seems as if I always write in contradictions. For example, today was the oddest it's ever been only because of the sheer normality of it all.**

**Erik woke long before me—I still wonder how he manages that—and did some shopping. No, I have misspoken again; 'some' is a severe understatement. It was more than 'some' in the same way the Crusades were more than 'a minor scuffle'. But I digress.**

Christine awoke earlier than usual, confused when she reached for Erik to find him missing and his side of the bed, cold. Suddenly the memories came back of the previous night… Erik returning, a child in arms… a series of strange conversations… finding him and the baby asleep in the workroom…

She rose and dressed quickly, wanting to check and see if it was not all just some bizarre dream. It was possible, after all. Anything was possible in the fifth cellar.

_Ah, but this dream really happened. _She thought as she looked into the little crib and saw the babe already awake and staring about the room with her large eyes. Christine frowned--why wasn't she screaming for food or attention or something of the sort? She knew little of babies, but she didn't recall it being normal for one to react so passively to waking up alone. Not one to take chances with small children, she set about changing the makeshift diaper and warming the bottle of milk that Erik had left for her.

_Speaking of Erik… where has that man gone off to this time?_

Just then she heard a bell, followed by the sound of the door opening, followed by the sound of two men bickering.

"Hurry up, daroga! Am I going to have to spend the whole day waiting up for you?"

"I nearly just had an arrow through my head you madman!"

"Then you should have been listening better. Did I not say, two steps to the left, one skip, press the raised stone, seven steps right--"

"Who could remember that? It's ludicrous! Besides, how am I supposed to do all those acrobatics all the while loaded down with packages? All this after waking me up before dawn to go shopping with you! You are pure evil, do you know that?"

"Of course I know that. You know it too. There's no need to keep mentioning it. Now stop straggling, you decrepit old goat, or shall I have to carry you? Hello? Christine! I have returned… are you awake? Our friend is here."

Christine emerged from the hallway looking radiant in a peach dress, looking at the men with a gentle smile and holding the dark-haired infant against her shoulder.

The Persian turned to Erik, his face horrified. "Erik," he breathed, "What have you done?"

**Over the course of a few hours, Erik had purchased anything and everything a little girl could possibly want or need throughout the course of her life… and then some. I wouldn't be surprised if he had already ordered her wedding dress. **

"What do you mean 'What have I done'? Why must you always assume the worst of me?"

"The fact that I very nearly found death at least twice today on the trip down here alone does not bode well for your innocence."

Erik gave a long-suffering sigh as he laid his packages out on the table. "Daroga, we have been through this. If you are too stupid to walk around my house without hurting yourself, you had best stay away. And to answer your question, I only did what any decent citizen would do." _I killed two men and took a baby from a dead woman. _"I found a helpless orphan and brought her under my protection into the care of my lovely wife."

"It's true, Monsieur," Christine said softly, stepping closer to greet her husband. Erik pressed the lips of his mask against her temple affectionately--as close to a kiss as he would come with a spectator present. Next he turned to the baby, who smiled and reached for him. Christine handed her over and began to unpack the numerous boxes.

The Persian watched the interaction with a sense of awe and wariness. The easy way in which the Angel of Doom handled his smiling family was unsettling… and yet… reassuring somehow.

He was drawn out of his thoughts, though, when his masked friend turned irritated, narrowed eyes on him.

"Of course it's true, you great booby." he huffed, adding a grumpy twinge to his wife's gentle assurance. "Why else would I have bought all those toys and tiny dresses?"

"You have bought many strange things over the years," he answered, not cowed in the least. "Perhaps I have learned to quit asking questions…"

"That would be a mistake. You never know what diabolical mischief I could be up to. I am a villain, you know."

"Why are _you_ complaining? You hate it when I visit you… when I start asking questions you threaten my life!"

Erik scoffed. "That is your problem, not mine. Do you job, daroga."

The Persian grinned. "Erik, are you saying you miss me? Why, I'm touched. I didn't know you had it in you, old man!"

Before Erik had a chance to retort, Christine cleared her throat. "If you gentlemen are quite finished nattering like a couple of old biddies, perhaps we might move out of the hallway and have some tea?"

"A brilliant idea, beloved. You heard the girl, daroga… stop behaving like a ninny and come meet my daughter."

**Well… I'd be a little surprised, as I suspect Erik would recoil like a viper at the idea of seeing his daughter married in his lifetime. I chuckle because even now I can picture how the conversation would go. I would tell him he was being unreasonable. He would fold his arms in that haughty way that turns him back into the Opera Ghost and say, "Nonsense. If ever there were a young man worthy of her, I would give them my blessing. But you are mad if you think I am going to let my baby girl go to any of these vapid swine." **

**Then he would sneer and march off to brood in his music room. A marvelously dark nocturne for piano would come from the ordeal and he would name it after her. **

**Poor girl. She never knew what she fell into when she let herself be taken in by the most possessive man in France. I may have gained an ally. **

"Wife!" Erik snarled irritably, "Where have you taken my child?" He had just finished the intricate carvings along the head board of the crib and wanted to show Christine. Though he no longer worried overmuch that she would run away from him, it still irked him that he should have to go looking for her--them--when he wanted company.

Christine floated in through one of the hidden doors to the side of the workroom. "Oh do relax," she chided, "We were only in the next room. You sound as if I have spirited her away to Africa."

"Well you should have been here… with me! Have I not said that enough? Why do you insist on disobeying me?"

Erik scowled, vaguely aware of how childish he sounded but still irritated that he had managed to lose complete control of his life in a matter of hours. _Oh quit your bellyaching, you old fool. What did you expect? Christine has had you wrapped around her finger since the moment you laid eyes on her. Did you think adding another female to the mix would make your life any easier? _

Erik huffed. He hated it when his conscience took Christine's side. _Traitor._

"Nonsense. Look, we're right here now… and I was only doing what you asked me to do."

She handed over the baby. Erik had sent the ladies out of the room a few hours ago so he could finish sanding and polishing without worrying about them inhaling dust or fumes. He had picked out a pink satin dress and set of ribbons and commanded Christine to dress the child and be back in an hour.

And so Christine presented the little one, bathed and dressed (though, Christine thought 'decorated' might be a more appropriate word considering) like a princess, and placed her into the skeletal hands of her phantom.

"You know, she is not a doll," Christine teased as Erik straightened a tiny bow.

"Don't be silly, Christine. Of course she is. You are too, might I add. Besides, I dress you up all the time and you've never complained. It's simple really: lovely ladies deserve lovely things. Isn't that right, little princess." he cooed, tickling under the baby's chin. The little one made an odd face before butting her head against his shoulder like a shy child in a public place and attempting to fit her entire fist into her mouth.

_Some Opera Ghost you turned out to be_, Christine thought wryly.

**I sincerely doubt it, though--as nice as the prospect is. When I watch them together I have the distinct impression that Erik is going to be the Angel Papa who can do no wrong and I am going to be the Evil Mama who keeps her from spreading paint on the walls and stifles her creative genius. **

**Speaking of creative genius--who buys a violin for an infant? **

"Erik, you cannot be serious," Christine declared. She had the passing realization that she had been saying that a lot lately.

"What do you mean, love?"

She gestured at the mountainous pile of boxes that Erik was methodically unwrapping. "How much did you buy, anyway?"

"Just the basic necessities, I assure you."

"How is _this_ a necessity?" she asked, lifting up a box of expensive oil paints.

He made an irritated noise. "Surely you don't expect me to begin her art education with substandard products."

Suddenly horrifying visions of brightly streaked hands and faces flooded Christine's mind. _Please be joking, Erik_, her mind pleaded.

"I'll have you know right now that I have no intention of cleaning up after those little experiments."

"Christine—how you wound Erik! How often does he make a mess with his paints?"

Christine smirked just a little bit. "If you'll allow me," she said, removing the glove from one of his hands to reveal a set of ink-stained fingertips."

"Touché, my darling."

"I am right."

"So I see."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"I made you hold my hand, didn't I?"

"You are impossible."

Christine turned her eyes away from her husband for a moment and looked back upon the 'basic necessities' that Erik had procured. Picking up a suspiciously odd shaped box, she lifted her eyebrow and asked, "And what might this be?"

**Erik insists, however, that Dea (yes, that is her name. I know, dear journal. Just don't ask.)…**

"Dea? You cannot call her that."

"Why ever not?"

"It's not even a name."

"Of course it is. It is _her_ name." Erik retorted, as if it were obvious.

"A girl needs a proper name. There are plenty of respectable French names to choose from: Danielle, Manon, Jacqueline… why not call her one of those?"

Erik looked horrified. "You cannot simply change a person's name at random. What a perfectly inane thing to say. How would you like it if I suddenly started calling you Marguerite?"

"You did in those couple days before _Faust_."

As if she had said nothing at all, Erik continued. "Besides… you have no say," he sniffed accusingly, "_You_ wanted me to leave her in an alley."

"Erik you kn---"

"You're beautiful."

"Do not try to dist---"

"I love you."

Christine rolled her eyes and put up her hands, looking up at the ceiling as if in a silent plea for patience.

"Fine. Dea it is," she relented.

Faster than reasonably possible, Erik was on his feet with his arms wrapped around her. She gently removed his mask and he buried his face in her hair.

"Mm… my precious girl…" he sighed against her neck.

…**is less of an infant than I think she is. That says something of the health that she has arrived to us in. **

The new family sat together on the sofa, relaxing and watching the child with fascination.

"How old do you suppose she is?" Christine wondered, idly pushing a stray lock of hair from the infant's face. Dea already possessed a head full of blue-black hair, parts of which had already begun to curl. They did make a strange family, with the golden skinned child resting in the arms of her fair-haired mother and deathly pale father. Fortunately, they weren't exactly exposed to many people who would pass judgment on such a thing.

"Older than she appears, I suspect." he answered sadly. He put a gloved finger in front of the child's face and moved it back and forth. She followed it with her eyes for a moment before reaching out with two open hands and grasping it. "Eight… nine months perhaps… it is hard to say exactly" he mused.

Christine sucked in a soft breath. "But she is so tiny. Surely you are mistaken."

Erik sighed, "My dearest wife… I have always desired to protect you from everything… to shelter you as only I can… from danger, from heartbreak, and even from the horror that is the world. When I found Dea last eve, she was struggling about under a thin, dirty cloth, her lips purple from exposure. She is so small because she first found life in the very depths of poverty. We can only consider the blessing that, despite the malnutrition, she comes to us without disease or deformation…"

He trailed off and swallowed hard, suddenly wondering what would have become of his little Christine had the Valerius' not taken her in when her father fell sick. _Stop that, Erik. Don't think of what could have been. She is yours now and under your protection. There is no reason to worry about such things anymore._

The couple stayed silent for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly Christine leaned into his shoulder and let out a choked sob, "Oh Erik…"

For some strange reason, Erik felt the need to apologize for a world that he had never been a part of. His little daughter should not be so small and frail and his beloved wife should not have to trouble her pure mind with such terrible thoughts. But wasn't that the reason to hide them away?—That he could give them life and protection while they shed light and love into his own cold heart? And hadn't he done just that? The dark times were over for all of them, he hoped.

He did the only thing left to do and simply held and comforted his wife, uttering each word as a promise to them all.

"Fear not, my love. Erik takes care of what is his…"

**That thought breaks my heart; I prefer not to dwell on it. Instead I shall continue with the subject at hand: he bought her a violin. **

"What do you mean 'What might this be'? Isn't it obvious?" Erik asked, pulling the instrument out of the case.

"Of course it's obvious, you silly man. I know what a violin looks like. What I want to know is why you think Dea needs one."

Once again, Erik looked at her as if she were being deliberately obtuse. "Honestly, Christine," he explained patiently, "she's not nearly big enough to learn the piano. How would she press the keys?"

"Are you mad or just sarcastic? It is unsettling when I cannot tell if you are serious or not."

"Don't I know it. Daroga might not have so many grey hairs if not for me. You're a good woman to put up with me."

"I know. But that still doesn't explain why you bought all these grown-up things for such a little baby."

**I gently explained to him that she might just be a little too young for that. He seemed skeptical at first, which makes me wonder just how young he was when he started playing, but resigned himself to play his for her until she was old enough to play her own. **

**As I was going to sleep last night, I wondered if Dea might become his new obsession—that his unwavering focus might transfer from me to her. To be honest, I had mixed feelings about this. As much as I enjoy the freedom—the intensity in which those unyielding, yellow eyes watch my every move unsettles me at times—the concept of losing that adoring gaze to another made my stomach twist. Then I would berate myself for having such selfish thoughts while a homeless orphan slept in the next room. Needless to say, it was not a very restful night.**

**In the end, it turned out that my worrying was all for naught. He craves my nearness more than ever now. He doesn't demand it like before; instead he pleads for it, giving me the power to reject him but still needing me all the same. **

Erik wanted Christine. As always, it vexed him to no end that he should have to go looking for her. If it were not so entirely demeaning, he would attach a bell to her. Unfortunately, he had yet to devise a way to realistically do this without her catching on and becoming very cross with him.

And so now there remained the problem that Erik wanted Christine but Erik could not find Christine… and he wasn't about to go bellowing through the house, demanding she come to him because of the added inconvenience that Dea had just now nodded off on his shoulder. In short, there was no way to retrieve Christine without upsetting at least one of the two most important women in his life.

There was nothing for it; he needed his wife. And so he very gingerly rose from the chair, careful not to jostle his sleeping child, and quietly searched the rooms.

He finally found her in the kitchen, humming softly to herself while she dried the dishes from supper. _My wife…_

"Christine?" he said quietly.

She looked over her shoulder, "Yes?" she sang.

"Keep me company?"

"You're actually _asking_?" She joked. She regretted it almost immediately when she saw his eyes darken. He was putting those shields back up again. She backpedaled. "What I mean to say is… I… Oh Erik, I'm sorry. If you need me, I'll be right out."

"I do need you."

"Right then. Of course I'll be right there."

Minutes later, she was curled up by his side, reading a book while he toyed with her hair. Erik had her tucked in one arm while his other arm kept Dea propped up against him.

"Thank you, Christine," he murmured.

She looked up from her book, a bewildered look on her face. "Is this all you wanted me for?" she asked. With the desperation that had been in his tone, she thought that he wanted something important--maybe to sing a new song or talk about a pressing matter.

"Do you not approve?"

"No, it's not that… it's just… I thought you needed something."

"I did."

She sat up but he pushed her down again. "What?"

"I simply did not want to be alone. Why must you be so difficult, wife?"

"What do you mean 'alone'? You have Dea right here…"

He sighed and tenderly stroked her hair away from her face. "Have you ever been cold, Christine? I mean really, truly cold?"

Christine paused, remembering one winter night, as a child, when she had stayed out too late, ignoring Mamma's demands she come inside. By the time she did return, she was soaked and shivering. Mamma had been furious.

With a reflective chuckle, she nodded. "I was caught in a storm. Prof. Valerius actually had to carry me inside the house. I don't think I've ever been so chilled in my life."

"When you returned, was there a fire going in the house?"

"Oh yes, it was wonderful. And Mamma brought me a hot cup of chocolate while I dried off."

"You huddled close to the fire, didn't you Christine? You sat beside it and warmed up."

"Naturally."

"That is how I feel right now. I feel like I have been cold my whole life, and now that I have found a fire, I want to soak up as much warmth as I can. Do you see what I am trying to say? Do you understand why it means so much to have you near me?"

"I think I do."

"So will you indulge an old man and let him enjoy your presence?"

"Oh Erik, you are not old!"

He smiled wistfully, tilting his head as he considered her. "Perhaps you're right, Christine," he said, after a time. "It would seem I am not as old as I used to be."

**I am not sure I understand it all, but I think he needs assurance. Not of my affection, because I think (I hope) I have proved that to him again and again. Rather, I think he needs to know that he is… enough. That he is allowed to be happy. I think. It's not easy to explain. **

**Dea cried for the first time tonight and Erik cried with her. Thinking he was just a new father and was taking her upset personally, I tried to tell him that it was only natural for babies to cry when they wanted something. He only shook his head held her. It was awkward for me and I wasn't sure what to do about that. I let them be.**

Christine was in her room, brushing her hair and getting ready for bed, when she heard a faint cry. She set down the brush and stepped out of the room towards the workroom-turned-nursery. She had expected Erik to come fetch her when Dea started making noise. Isn't that what husband's did? Send the wife in to fix the squealing infant. Naturally, she was surprised that Erik hadn't called her yet. _Perhaps he didn't hear, _she mused. _No, Erik hears everything… maybe he is just overly concentrated on something._

"Erik," Christine called out, "I think the baby is…" She trailed off as she entered the little room to find Erik already in there. He was on his knees, rocking back and forth with the little baby clutched to him. His mask lay against the wall as if it were thrown off in a hurry and he was weeping and pressing kisses to the child's tiny face and head.

"She cries, Christine," Erik breathed, eyes still fixed on the infant in his arms.

"Oh Erik!" Christine exclaimed, rushing to his side. "It is alright… you have done nothing wrong. It's perfectly normal for babies to cry. You'll see… she is just fine."

"No, you don't understand, Christine," He insisted, breaking his gaze from the child and looking up at Christine with shining eyes, "She _cries_."

Christine frowned, not knowing what to make of that comment. She felt uncomfortable, as if she were intruding on something. Luckily, the logical side of her mind stepped forward and took charge. _I just changed her, _Christine thought, _so she must either be hungry or tired and cranky._

"I'll just warm up some milk then," she said, backing out the door.

"Thank you," Erik answered softly.

He turned back to the squirming creature in his arms. Christine could not understand, sweet girl that she was. If he tried to explain, she'd probably think him mad. How does one explain that it made him happy to hear his daughter crying? But it did. It truly did.

Erik never cried as a child… perhaps for a time as a newborn, but it didn't last long. He had learned—smart boy that he was—that nobody would answer. Why waste energy calling to someone who refuses to hear? Erik was jaded even before he could walk.

Perhaps that was why his heart went out so to Dea. Until now, he had yet to hear her cry for any reason. She had been hungry, cold, weak… she had seen many changes in the last 24 hours but she had made scarcely a noise other than the faint whimper when he first lifted her off that rocky pavement. Perhaps it was too late, he had begun to wonder. Perhaps she too was hardened as he was.

_But her cry! _The sound of her crying out for him told Erik that there was still hope for his little daughter. He cuddled her close and wept tears of joy and relief.

Christine just wouldn't understand.

"It's alright, Dea," he murmured, "Papa hears you."

**I think something about Dea reminds him of himself. I cannot begin to comprehend what it must have been like for him as he grew up--never feeling a hug, never seeing a smile meant just for him, never hearing the words, "Erik, you are a good boy." **

**Part of him is still that little boy and he still needs those things. But I am happy to give them. I am relieved to see that his heart carries enough love for more than a singular purpose. Sometimes I wonder what he would have been like had he the world instead of just a cellar. **

"Erik, I should like to have a word with you." Christine announced after supper.

"Of course, my darling. But first, let's have a song. We've been so busy today I almost forgot your lesson. You'll have to forgive your poor Erik, my dear—he is not used to such interruptions. Ah! But who am I to complain? I should welcome these types of distractions, breaking up my dreary routine with sunshine… just like any other man, right? With a wife and a child?"

Erik looked so very hopeful right now… almost childlike. It reminded her of the way he looked when he first kissed her _that night_… as if he wasn't quite sure if it were all real and was looking to her for affirmation. She decided this was as good an invitation as any for what she wanted to ask.

"That's what I've been meaning to talk to you about. I do not think it is right to raise a child in a cave."

"What are you saying?" Erik challenged. His eyes flashed once and then softened again. Christine could practically hear his thoughts as they processed through his mind. _She wants to leave me! She cannot! She will not leave… she will my daughter either. Peace, Erik… wait… think this through. Do you honestly believe, after all you've been through, that she would leave you now? No. Look at her face… is that the look of a woman who despises you? No. Listen to her voice… is that the tone of a woman about to run away? No. Good, Erik. Now breathe. Listen to what she has to say and __do_ try _not to frighten the poor girl. _

Christine waited for Erik's mind to quit turning. She had been ready to step in, calm him down and speak reason, so it made her infinitely happy to see that he seemed to be doing it himself. Perhaps his newly resurrected conscience was on the mend. She sat beside him at the piano and took his hand for further reassurance.

_Calm now, Erik? Has the tantrum been averted? Good. Now, as I was saying… _"What I mean to say is that you once spoke about us leaving this place and living in a _real _house like everybody else. I haven't yet mentioned it because I did not want to upset you. But, now that we have Dea to consider, I really feel strongly that we should… why are you looking at me like that?"

Christine had been ready to launch into her rehearsed speech about why children need sunlight but stopped when she noticed Erik giving her the most peculiar of looks. She couldn't see his expression because of the mask but his head was slightly tilted and his eyes were focused both at her, and yet at the same time, not at her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you listening? I said we should find a new home."

"Oh, yes darling, I heard you." Erik was genuinely surprised at her request. Of course he hadn't planned to stay under the opera forever--not with a wife and certainly not with a child. Certainly not! It would be dangerous!

He had planned to take Christine away from this place almost from the moment he'd met her. Along with all those lovely garments and trinkets he stocked her room with, in one of his giddy sprees of fancy he had also purchased a home for her. Two, actually—a house in the country and a little flat closer to Paris. He had even gone so far as to arrange for one or two servants to keep the dwellings prepared for new occupants.

At first it had just been a dream—just like the dresses. He would go out and buy things for the then unwitting Christine and daydream about a life he could never have.

_That boy_—though the thought of him made the muscles in his jaw tick—had turned his obsession to full force and his once fantasy had become very real as he made plans to whisk her away to hidden country house and hide with her there.

So what happened?

Erik frowned. Had he forgotten? It would seem that, with all the madness that had accompanied their short marriage, moving had become less of a priority until… well… it honestly hadn't occurred to him until Christine brought it up just now.

"And?" Christine asked exasperatedly.

"I think it's a lovely idea."

"You do?"

"I just said that, didn't I? Must I always repeat myself?"

"I… ah… well… I just hadn't expected…"

"Oh come now, Christine. You make me sound like a dreadful sort… am I so completely unreasonable? There now. How about we leave tomorrow? We'll pack a few things for now and I'll have the daroga send the rest… we'll make that nosy devil good for _something _at least. How does that sound, my darling? Christine? _Christine?_"

Now it was Christine's turn to look puzzled. Erik's ready acceptance took away most of her thunder and now she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.

"Oh… of course… tomorrow then," she said slowly, still a little flabbergasted. She stood up and started to leave, "I suppose I'll just go pack and—"

Erik caught her hand. "Ah ah ah, Christine!" he chided in a sing-song voice, "You still owe me a song."

**Speaking of which--we're moving! I suppose that is big enough news I should have mentioned it earlier. Hopefully you'll forgive me, dear journal. When I suggested it, I was prepared for an argument and was more than a little surprised by his ready agreement. What's more is that he already has a place for us! I want to kick myself. I should have asked earlier. **

**That is what I meant when I said our day has been oddly normal. Our circumstances will always be strange, which leaves us for many peculiar days in the future. Still, think of today: we argued about parenting, we discussed new housing plans… there was no talk of checking torture chambers for trespassers or of killing fiancés. There was only… normal conversation that normal families have on a regular basis. **

**How perfectly delightful is that? **

**Anyway, we are leaving tomorrow. It is out in the country a few days journey from here. I am excited. Paris holds so many memories for me--good and bad--but I am happy to move on, nonetheless. I think the change will be good for all of us. **

**Until we meet again, old friend,**

**Christine**

* * *

**A/N: Okay, just one more chapter from here. I thought I'd leave a little note about my name choices so you don't think I'm nuts or something. Dea is a character from Victor Hugo's _The Man Who Laughs_. As a baby, she was rescued in the snow by a deformed boy, who took her into his care even though he was near death himself. The two orphans are taken in by a philosopher, Ursus (meaning 'bear'), and his best friend, a wolf named Homo (meaning 'man'). Since the task falls upon Ursus to name the infant, here is what is decided:**

"Ursus, with his mania for Latin names, had christened her Dea. He had taken his wolf into consultation. He had said to him, "You represent man, I represent the beasts. We are of the lower world; this little one shall represent the world on high. Such feebleness is all-powerful. In this manner the universe shall be complete in our hut in its three orders—human, animal, and Divine." The wolf made no objection. Therefore the foundling was called Dea."

Okay, so maybe I'm a little nuts... but at least I didn't make it up. So there. Thanks for reading.


	43. Epilogue

A/N: Well, here goes. Keep in mind that the kids will be all different ages in this chapter. How about one more review for old time's sake, hmm? Thanks for reading everyone!

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* * *

**

**My dear journal, my old friend whom I have sadly neglected,**

**Has it truly been nine years? It seems like it has been a thousand--and yet, as I hold this old dusty book, I feel as if I could have written it yesterday. **

**Well, journal, since you have had the misfortune of hiding in a box for so long, perhaps I owe you a bit of an update. Ah, but where to start?**

**So much has happened to our little family since we last spoke. Dea has grown up into quite a sophisticated young lady… at times. Her rocky start in life has lent her a rather frail appearance but she makes up for it with a store of vivacious energy that seems to come in endless supply. I do not know how we ever managed without her. However Erik and I managed to raise such a charming girl, I could not tell you. Perhaps we turned out to be better parents that we thought (although I hesitate to put such a thing in writing lest I one day prove the boast false!). **

"I am ready for my lesson, Papa!" Dea shouted.

"Shh… if you insist on shrieking all the time, you will not have a voice left to teach."

It had been a process to make Erik understand the nature of music lessons for a child like Dea. For one, she hardly had the attention span to practice for six or eight hours at a time like he did. Furthermore, Christine had to constantly remind him that she was not going to improve as quickly as he did at that age.

Christine could tell that frustrated Erik at times, but she suspected he was inwardly pleased to have a daughter who was so perfectly… normal.

They had violin and piano lessons once a day, each lasting for a half an hour or as long as she could hold still.

Erik was generally opposed to giving singing lessons to children, not wanting to over-tax developing vocal cords, but Dea never liked to be left out of anything… when she found out Mama took voice lessons, she insisted that she have them as well. In the end, they compromised and a fifteen minute daily singing lesson was added to her education.

"Dea, what on earth are you wearing?" Erik asked, looking over her head at Christine who shrugged as if to say 'I had nothing to do about it'.

"Do you like it?" she asked excitedly. Dea had bounded out of her room, ready for lessons, in a cheery yellow sundress with assorted colored ribbons tied around the middle (one look in the mirror told her the dress definitely needed a belt). The shoes appeared to be Christine's and she was wearing a massive, floppy hat that came from… well, Erik couldn't be sure exactly…

"It is… interesting. What happened to the dress Mama picked out for you?"

Dea made a face. "Oh, that was just an everyday dress. I wanted to dress extra special for you today, Papa."

"Why is that, princess?" Erik asked, genuinely curious. He didn't remember any special occasion coming up.

"Just because." she shrugged.

"Well, I'm happy you tried so hard to look nice for me today. However, I think those shoes will not be very conducive to proper singing. Would you mind taking them off while we have your lesson?"

Dea looked at him as if he had suddenly grown sparkly pink horns on his head. She sighed dramatically. "Fi-ine" she said, greatly put out.

Christine suspected if he had proper eyebrows, one would be arched at the moment. "Excuse me, young lady?" he asked warningly.

Dea blushed, abashed. "I mean… Yes, Papa."

"That's what I thought. Now let's begin your warm-ups."

**Actually, I given this much contemplation lately. When I think of the world, I am amazed that so many things go right given all that could go wrong. I truly do not understand it. There are so many variables in life that I wonder why it does not collapse into chaos! One day an avalanche could erupt from the slightest disturbance, but on another day that same disturbance could leave the mountain unaffected--simply because some series of events in nature had determined whether or not that disturbance had the power to cause a disaster or not. **

**I'm not sure that makes any sense. I'm still trying to sort it all out myself, to be honest.**

**Erik only met me because I obeyed my father's wish and joined the Opera. The disastrous events that followed might have been averted had Raoul not crossed my path at some strange coincidence. Then again, if it had not all happened that way, perhaps Erik and I would not have married? That's something to ponder. **

**I am forever grateful that Erik was at the right place at the right time that night he found Dea. Likewise am I thankful to Raoul for sending that letter when he did. If he had been a day early or a day late… well I doubt Dea would be with us now and I shudder to consider the alternatives. **

A few years after they'd settled into their new home, Christine felt the conviction that she needed to start going back to church. Thus began Dea's religious education.

It wasn't anything formal since she was still pretty little; they just replaced bedtime stories with Bible stories a few nights each week. Tonight, Dea was cuddled up with Christine in the rocking chair while Erik sat by the fire, reading aloud.

"Why did David fight the giant?" Dea asked.

"Because he was the enemy" Erik answered calmly. Dea was in that delightful 'why phase'--as Christine had dubbed it--and it was always interesting to see what type of explanations Erik would come up with and how long it would take to make him frustrated.

"But…" her brow furrowed as she tried to think of the words, "but why was he there?"

"To visit his brothers," he said, flipping the pages backward to check.

"Why?"

Christine answered this time, "Because his father sent him."

"Why?"

Erik found the page and looked over it briefly. "Because his brothers were busy fighting and someone had to bring them bread and cheese."

"But _why_?"

Finally Erik made that sound of complete and utter irritation. He snatched Dea out of Christine's lap and tossed her over his shoulder as she squealed with delight.

"Because sometimes… sometimes, if you want to fight giants, you have to deliver cheese first. That's just the way it is. Now, off to bed with you. No more silly questions, understand?"

"Why?"

**Just now I shifted through the pages of this journal and came across the list that Mamma Valerius had given me years ago on my wedding day. **

As a page fell from Christine's journal, she picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully. The paper had yellowed from the moisture in the box and the edges were slightly cracking, but the words were still clear and unmistakable.

_Advice from Mamma_

_Establish what is nonnegotiable, but allow some latitude._

_Maintain stability, but embrace change._

_Constantly grow and mature, but always be yourself. _

_Plan for the best, but prepare for the worst._

_Pay attention to the small things for the biggest outcome._

Christine smiled, thinking of the day she had written this. She was so young, so frustrated, so terribly confused. Oh what she wouldn't give to go back and talk to her former self, offer some encouragement, some advice. But then… isn't that what Mamma Valerius had done? She had been so absorbed in her own misery and circumstance that she hadn't understood one bit.

**I smile when I think of it, since she always seemed to speak in contradictions. At the time, it frustrated me, but I see now that she had more wisdom than I gave her credit for. **

_How dramatic I was back then! _Christine thought, skimming through some of the things she had written so many years ago. She found some paste in Erik's desk and proceeded to attach the list to the back page of the journal. _Let this always be a reminder, _she decided. Maybe some day she'd give it to Dea. Undoubtedly there would come a time--hopefully _many_ years in the future--when she would want to know the truth about how Mama and Papa found each other.

**I daresay I am not the only one who has changed. Erik is different as well. And yet, he remains very much the same. **

**Perhaps--likely--it's the decade of practice we've had, but I think the two of us fit together marvelously. I like to believe that much of that is my doing. **

**Remember long ago when I mentioned how each person likes to be touched differently? Well, Erik is no exception. I've known that from the beginning, but I think he was just more difficult to figure out than most--all that time closed off from the world, I suppose. Sometimes I think my biggest mistake was assuming that he was just as simple as every other man. **

**But now, all that has changed. I have learned when to be gentle, and when to be strong, when to argue and when to let it lie. I have learned how to read his responses and touch him accordingly. **

Christine was giving Erik a strange look. Ever since they came out of the dress shop, Erik had been visibly tense. She could tell he was angry, but that wasn't enough to go on---was he furniture breaking angry, insecure angry, tired and grumpy angry, or Punjab lasso angry?

"Stop this! Will you tell me what's wrong? You've been grinding your teeth the whole ride home."

"Don't act like you don't know, Christine! I saw the way that gentleman was looking at you. What's a man doing working in a dress shop, anyway? It's obscene."

_Ah. Jealous angry._

"You mean that greasy man at the counter? Do you honestly think I'd want _him_ over someone like you? Why, I wouldn't even have noticed him if you hadn't brought it up just now."

"That is not the point! You belong to me… he has no right to leer at you in that manner. I have half a mind to go back there and break his sorry neck." His threats seemed to lose some of their weight as Christine crawled up into his lap (as much as one can expect while in a carriage, anyway) and started nuzzling his neck.

**I hate to gloat, but I think I have done a good job of it. It seems we hardly fight anymore--we argue on occasion, but that's different… more playful, I suppose. I can't remember the last time we were truly pitted against each other. **

After a moment, his tirade was reduced to an irritated grumbling, Christine suggested, "If it would please you, I never have to go back there again."

He sighed, more annoyed now than anything else, "You know very well that is not an option… it is the only dress shop in town and I'm not about to drive to Paris every time you need something taken in an inch." Even with glasses, Christine was much too shortsighted to safely wield a needle and thread, or so Erik insisted.

"Well… how about you go without me?"

"Perfect, then they can take _my_ measurements. Honestly, Christine are you thinking this through?"

"My apologies, husband. What if I brought a friend along so you could stay home? Then you wouldn't have to be constantly suspicious."

"That idea is more ludicrous than the first! If your masked devil hadn't been lurking about, who knows what that disgusting man would have done? No, I must be able to protect your virtue."

"Then what would you suggest?"

"I suggest… I suppose I'll have to stop dwelling on it."

"Brilliant idea, dearest. I wonder what I ever did without you."

"Christine?"

"Hmm?"

"You just tricked me didn't you?"

"Mm."

"Chrissstine…"

"Erik…"

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Tell the driver to go faster. I'm ready to get home."

"Outstanding."

**Oh, that's not true. Now I remember--when Dea was three and I gave birth to our son, Guillaume. **

**Guillaume is a bright child--extremely so--with a natural talent for… well… everything. I see so much of Erik in him. His speech and mannerisms are staunchly formal for a little boy. To look at him, you'd think he was the coldest, most unapproachable child imaginable. **

Erik was having what Christine had referred to as 'Papa's private time'. By that, she meant that he was having another of his inspirational moments--those intense times when he locked himself away for hours or days, composing.

Inwardly she had hoped that the responsibility of a family and the change of scenery from the Opera might curb his obsessive tendencies. She realized how foolish she was to hope for such a thing. Professor Valerius had been the same way, after all, and it never diminished as he aged--or so Mamma had said.

Erik had displayed so much goodness over the years that it would be wrong to take him to task over his very nature.

She was used to it all by now, anyway.

But still, things had to be done--cooking and taking care of the children, and whatnot. Not to mention making sure Erik ate every so often.

_At least the cleaning is taken care of_, she thought idly. When Christine was pregnant, Erik had insisted on hiring a few extra servants to keep the house in order.

Of all the ridiculously overprotective things he put her through, this was the most favorable by far. If he didn't want her sweeping and dusting, she wasn't complaining.

Unsurprisingly, she offered little resistance when Erik declared that they would be keeping the arrangement even after the baby was born.

However, even with the help, raising two busy children without Erik around could be taxing at times. Needing some fresh air and quiet, Christine had taken a walk under the guise of light shopping.

She regretted it, though, as soon as she returned home.

"Mama! Mama!" Dea cried, speeding down the hall. Christine barely had time to set down her bags before Dea hurdled herself into her arms.

"Dea, do not bellow so," she scolded, "You are a lady." She looked down and her brushed some of her hair away from her face. She frowned when she saw the pouting look she was giving.

Dea had a wild mass of black curls framing her face that Erik had declared adorable from the beginning. The problem with this, Dea realized, was that her scowl was decidedly less threatening. If anything, Erik would laugh at her and kiss her head, explaining that it was simply impossible to take her anger seriously with those gypsy curls in her eyes. Christine would watch and shake her head--he was right, of course… but if that wasn't the way to make a girl more angry, she didn't know what was!

Anyway, she was not to be deterred. Ever the actress, Dea resorted to poking out her bottom lip and shedding a few tears to get what she wanted.

But Christine had learned all her tricks and facial expressions well (as she'd used a few of them herself on occasion) and _this _pout was the pout that said 'I just did something you are not going to like'.

"What did you do?" Christine asked suspiciously, holding the child out at arms length. A few feet away, someone cleared their throat, causing her to look up.

"Good afternoon, Mother," Guillaume said, looking very sober in his black clothing and his hands clasped behind his back, "I trust you enjoyed your walk?"

"What have you two done?"

He shifted a little from one foot to the other but otherwise kept his expression unreadable. "Everything is fine now, but there may or may not have been a little accident in Father's workshop."

"He set the desk on fire, Mama!" Dea exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at her brother.

"ME?" Guillaume shouted, momentarily dropping his adult persona and sounding every bit like the six-year-old he was. "The whole thing was _your_ idea, sister. Besides, it would have worked if you hadn't distracted me!"

That was enough to make both children start shouting at once.

"STOP!" she cried, wanting to get to the bottom of this. "Guillaume, tell me what happened."

Her son was more likely to give her the unedited story than her daughter was.

Guillaume sighed. "Father read to us all about Arthur and Merlin and… do you know what I am talking about, Mother?" Christine nodded. "Well, anyway, Dea said they were real but I think it is just a story. So, we decided to build a machine--like we read about in another book--that could take us back in time." He spread his hands in a very Erik-like gesture of mock simplicity. "That way we could see for ourselves."

Christine's frown deepened. Her six-year-old son was trying to take her 9-year-old daughter back to the time of King Arthur. What she found most unsettling was the fact that she wasn't at all surprised. _Erik, I'm being very patient, but you better not be composing very much longer._

"So what happened next?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Well, I was taking apart your clock… you know the one from the closet--don't look at me like that, Mother, you haven't used it in ages--and Dea got bored and started playing with my sketchbook. When I went to take it from her, my hand slipped and one of the springs from the clock came out and knocked over the lantern."

"We're so very sorry, Mama!" Dea moaned, "Please don't be angry with us."

She looked back at Guillaume, who had returned to his previous stance, looking calm and resigned. It did not escape her that Dea was doing all the apologizing. Guillaume wasn't sorry at all. Granted, he would prefer not to be punished, but that did not change the fact that he believed he had done nothing wrong. He knew that sometimes experiments went bad, Papa had explained that when he was little and took apart his own crib, only to fall out and hurt himself. It was just a necessary risk, he thought.

It had been an honest accident, after all.

Besides, he had a feeling Papa would understand. Even if Mama did punish him, Papa would talk to him later so he could do better the next time.

Christine ran her hand over her face in frustration. "Let's go look at the damage," she said, "But, hear me children, if I have to go disturb your father over this, you are both going to regret it. Understand?"

Dea pouted again. Guillaume just nodded somberly. "Yes, Mother," they answered.

**And yet, when it's just the four of us, he is as much a cuddle bug as his sister. I want to laugh at the way they fight over Mama's lap whenever it is story time. You'd think, by the looks of it, that they were afraid I'd never come back again. Apparently I have much more patience for children than I do with adults. Who knew? **

"Mother?" Guillaume asked, lifting his head of Christine's shoulder. "Did the blind mice chase the farmer's wife before or after she cut off their tails?"

Dea sat up abruptly; she had been resting on Christine's knee (since it was _her _bed, she'd argued) while Christine stroked her hair--a position Dea apparently found as relaxing as her mother did.

"Don't be stupid, Guillaume," she snapped, "What difference does it make?"

"It makes all the difference!" he insisted.

"I would have to agree," murmured Erik, who was leaning casually against the door frame.

"Did you hear that, children? Papa says he wants to continue this conversation tomorrow when it's his turn to read!"

They probably would have put up more fuss about it, but prudently kept their mouths shut, having learned early on that Erik had little tolerance for whining.

Christine kissed both children and walked Guillaume back to his room, leaving Erik to tuck Dea into bed. She had barely shut the door when she heard him singing.

When Dea was a baby, she had come down with a terrible fever and the only way Erik could calm her was by singing. He had spent hours pacing the hallways with her, singing lullabies and any other tunes he could think of.

He sang her to sleep every night since.

Guillaume was an entirely different story. Even as an infant, his father's voice (or his mother's, for that matter) would never put him to sleep. If anything, the music would wake him up even more.

By the time he was old enough to express himself with words, he explained that if he fell asleep, he'd miss the rest of the song. Christine tried not to feel overly inferior with _that _remark coming from her toddler.

Like his father, Guillaume had trouble falling asleep at night. It seemed that the world was much too full of interesting things to waste time sleeping. So Christine just shut him up in his room at night. He'd sleep when he was tired, but in the meantime he had enough books to read and gadgets to tinker with to keep his mind busy. Erik had even insulated his room so he could play his violin without waking his sister.

"Goodnight, my son," Christine said fondly, bending down to kiss his forehead.

"Goodnight to you as well, Mother. I wish you good dreams and I shall see you in the morning."

He poked his head out of the door and checked both sides of the hallway. Satisfied, he flung his arms around Christine and kissed her cheek. "I love you, Mama," he whispered and disappeared into his room.

**As I said, Guillaume is a perfect miniature of Erik. **

"One last push, Madame," the midwife urged. That was the third time she'd said that, but Christine was beyond arguing.

It had been an easy labor, as far as most women were concerned. However, at the time Christine would have struck someone for saying as much. She was in pain and exhausted and just ready for the process to be over. She also wanted Erik desperately. Originally he had wanted to be in the room with her, even to the point of threatening the midwife who insisted he stay away.

In the end, it had been Christine who convinced him to leave. She'd heard that women often said terrible things about their husbands while giving birth. A normal man would take such comments in stride, but she was afraid Erik might not heal as quickly if she said anything cruel. She knew it was stupid, but she was trying to prepare for the worst. Erik, not wanting to upset his pregnant wife, reluctantly agreed to stay out.

Oh, but what Christine wouldn't give to hear him singing right now!

A young woman, about sixteen, had accompanied the graying midwife to assist and was standing by Christine's head, wiping her brow with a cool cloth and encouraging her.

"Here it comes!" cried the woman, taking hold of the baby while Christine gasped for breath. Christine looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of her child. However, one look at the midwife's face and she knew that all was not well.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, feeling the tears start anew. Pleading, she said, "Give me my baby."

"I am so sorry, Madame," the midwife said softly, shaking her head in sympathy. "The child is dead."

"_What_?" Christine breathed, afraid to hear the answer again.

"Paulette," the midwife quietly beckoned her assistant, "Please take the body to the other room and clean it up."

The girl took the wrapped bundle from the woman and swiftly shut the door to the washroom. The midwife turned her attention to the sobbing Christine. She massaged Christine's belly to expel the afterbirth all the while speaking sympathetic platitudes.

"Dear girl, I am so sorry. These things happen. I'm sure it was all in the Good Lord's will. We all have a time to return Home, my dear, and his time just came earlier than most. I know it hurts now, but it'll get easier in time…"

Christine scarcely heard a word she was saying. Her mind was in complete turmoil. She wanted Erik but couldn't seem to make her mouth form the right words. Everything she said came out as jumbled snuffles.

Suddenly there was a sound in the next room and both women fell instantly silent. There was the unmistakable wail of a baby, followed by the shocked voice of the girl.

"Oh God!" Paulette choked. She nearly screamed when the tiny corpse she carried started to squirm in her arms. When it began to cry, she nearly dropped it. "Madame!" she cried, panicking, "Madame, come quickly!"

The midwife, whose tiny eyes had grown wide with surprise, quickly left Christine's side and fled to the other room. Christine strained to hear what the women were talking about.

"It lives!"

"How can that be?"

"Look at him… he is dead and yet he lives!"

"This is unnatural. Only the work of the Devil could produce such a monstrosity."

"But haven't you seen the father? The tall man in the black mask? His eyes are yellow--and they _glow! _The _glow_, Madame! Like the eyes of a cat… or a demon!"

"Oh! My heart breaks for that poor woman… to have born such an abomination! I will advise her to send for a priest in great haste. Perhaps he can wash the evil from this little one. If the Lord is merciful, it won't live through the night."

"What do we do now, Madame?"

"You must pray, Paulette. I will go speak with the mother."

Christine watched the midwife emerge with sweat on her wrinkled brow and a concerned look on her face. She was trying very conspicuously not to look afraid or disgusted.

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but Christine beat her to it. She'd already heard all she needed to hear.

"Get Erik," she demanded forcefully.

**By that, I mean that my son inherited not only his father's genius, but also his face. **

Erik had been pacing for over two hours.

They had been the most unbearable hours of his life.

What's worse is that he had no idea what was going on in that room. He'd heard that some women could be in labor for days; frankly, he wasn't so sure he could last that long. He could not remember ever feeling so helpless.

The first time Christine screamed, he thought he would die. Why would she be making sounds like that? Was that normal? He fingered the rope inside his sleeve. He wasn't completely above killing women… and he wouldn't hesitate to snap that midwife's neck if she hurt his Christine.

For some reason, the reassurance kept him sane.

The second time she cried out, Erik leapt to his feet. He had nearly reached the threshold of the door when he remembered how Christine insisted he wait. _I need to be with her! I hear her crying… she needs me! Keep it together, old man. You'll just be in the way. Let the women do their jobs. Women have been doing this for thousands of years. You'll see, it will be fine._

He'd just made the decision to wait nearby (and break down the door if she cried out again)when the mousy little midwife's apprentice came scurrying out, pale as can be.

"You are needed," she squeaked. Paulette turned to rush down the hallway when Erik grabbed her arm.

He growled at the frightened look in her eyes. His bony fingers dug into her upper harm hard enough to leave bruises.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snarled, shaking her a bit, "What have you done to my _wife_?"

The girl was now crying openly. "I'm sorry, Monsieur… I cannot be in this house any longer!"

He shook her again. "I swear to you, if you hurt---"

"Let the girl go," the midwife said, emerging from Christine's room. "You're wife is fine. But Paulette is right… we cannot stay another minute in this unholy place."

Erik, simultaneously angered and reassured, thrust the young woman away. She scuttled out the door as quickly as possible as the midwife followed at a slightly lesser pace, fighting to keep the tremble out of her step.

As an afterthought, she turned back towards Erik. Some of the revulsion in her eyes had been replaced with worry.

"Monsieur… be kind to her. None of this was her fault."

**That is what I was referring to about the argument we had. I had a baby who was a mirror image of his father. Poor Erik was horrified. **

**It was an emotional time for us all as we talked about what to do about it. **

In the flurry of questions and emotion, Christine desperately tried to make sense of it all. Where was Erik? What happened to her baby?

She vaguely remembered the midwife giving her a cup herbal tea and telling her to drink it all. She must have fallen asleep after that.

At some point, she had woken up to find Erik kneeling by her bedside, clutching her hand and sobbing like a child.

"I'm sorry Christine. Erik is sorry… so sorry…"

The next time she woke, her mind had cleared. She was terribly sore but refreshed and coherent enough to want a long bath. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Erik in the doorway. His stance was wide and his arms folded. He had on his heavy black cloak and a brimmed hat that cast just enough shadow on his face to make his eyes glow. In those smoldering eyes, Christine saw a hardness that she had not seen in a long time.

This was not her Erik, husband, father of her children.

The man before her was the Opera Ghost… the Living Corpse… the Angel of Doom.

He was terrifying.

For a moment, neither spoke. Christine stared at him, aghast. She tried to make out a glimmer of emotion in his dead eyes but she could find nothing. They were cold… empty.

"My baby?" she whispered hopefully.

"Put it out of your mind, Christine. Erik is taking it away from here. You have no son. He died at birth. Do you understand? There will not be a baby. This is for the best. Rest now, and put it from your mind."

It took only a fraction of a second for this to sink in.

"You… you're going to kill him, aren't you? You are going to kill my son!" She sprung out of the bed, near hysterical.

"Get back into bed, Christine," Erik commanded, gently forcing her back down onto the mattress, "You have been ill, you see. That is why you must rest now."

He moved, then, to the white cradle--the one he had so lovingly built to hold his newborn baby--and carefully removed the soft bundle. He tucked it against his chest to keep it from Christine's view. If he could help it, his angel would never have to set eyes on the creature he had sired.

He would not subject his wife to the same horror that had been his unhappy mother's lot.

Christine would have none of it, though. She grabbed hold of Erik's sleeve and kept him from leaving the room.

"Look at me, Erik! Look at me now! You hear this, husband… if you hurt that child, I will take Dea and we will leave so that you will never find us again."

They were the 'magic words' so to speak… the only phrase that truly had the power to destroy Erik. It was a threat Christine hoped never to have to make… and so it was something she did not take lightly.

Erik paused for a moment. Rage and despair warring for dominion over his faculties. Then, with unnatural speed, he thrust the infant into her hands and fled the room.

**Looking back now, I truly do not think Erik would have hurt Guillaume. He was just frightened--terrified, actually--and panicked. In the time I have known him, I have never seen Erik more afraid than I did that night. **

Christine nursed Guillaume (she felt justified in naming the baby since Erik named the last one) a bit and then settled him into the cradle beside the bed, trying to give Erik a few minutes to cool down.

Then she went searching for her husband. She checked his workshop, the library, and the music room to no avail. She realized that there were enough hidden doors and shadowed corners in the house that, if Erik didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be.

Luckily she had a daughter who was the second best hider in the house.

She poked her head in the nursery. Dea was on the floor, coloring and singing to herself. Of the millions of dolls and stuffed creatures that inhabited her room, her favorites were lined up on the floor facing her.

The little diva couldn't do anything without an audience.

"Where's Papa?" Christine asked.

Completely absorbed in her artwork, Dea didn't even look up. "He's in his sad place," she answered.

"Do you know where that is?"

She nodded and pointed. Christine thanked her and went to leave. Before she shut the door, Dea looked up as something suddenly occurred to her.

"Can I see the baby, Mama?"

Christine smiled. "Not just yet, sweet. He is sleeping right now. You just finish your drawing and later Mama or Papa will take you to see him, alright?"

Dea sighed dramatically. "I suppose…"

Following Dea's rather incomplete directions, Christine eventually found herself just outside the door of one of the closets. If this were any other family, she'd assume she had gotten lost.

However, long ago she had learned that nothing was as it seemed.

Inside the closet, she began feeling the walls and pressing on weak spots. Eventually she managed to touch the right knots to make a second door swing open.

The room was not much larger than the closet had been and it contained a large mirror and a lamp. Inside, Erik was crouched on a rickety stool, staring into the mirror, without his mask. The position looked uncomfortable and Christine knew that, for Erik, looking upon his own face had to be nearly unbearable. Still, he did not look as if he'd be moving any time soon.

"Christine…" he whispered pleadingly, turning his shining eyes to look at her in the mirror.

She stepped forward and put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched at her touch. Christine wondered if it was just his emotional state that caused the reaction, or if he had beat or hurt himself in some way. She moved her hand upward to stroke his hair.

As she did this, something inside Erik broke. It was as if the floodgates had opened and he began to talk.

He told Christine everything. All the horrors of his life… the crimes committed against him, the ones he committed against others. He left nothing out and spared no details.

If Christine were truly going to love him for himself, she'd have to know everything.

He told her of the circus and the abuse. As a small boy, he'd run away from home only to be captured and sold to some traveling circus performers. A few weeks later, his mother came upon the side show and saw him only to turn back as if she'd never recognized him at all. The company stayed in that place for months as the Living Corpse gained popularity… she could have come and rescued him at any point during that time, but she stayed away. Eventually they moved on. In his memory that was the first shred of humanity truly torn from him.

It only got worse after that.

He told her of his violent escape and the uncertain time he spent on the road alone. He told her of his time in Persia--of the murders and the madness. He even told her that he enjoyed it, that he loved the power and the fear, that he would still be there today--controlled by the sickness in his mind--if they hadn't threatened his own life.

How the only shred of dignity he'd known as a young man came from the daroga--and his family had been tortured and killed for his kindness.

All the while Erik was speaking, Christine stood silent. She listened to his voice, his ragged, shuddering breath, his occasional sobs and moans.

When he had finished, he forced himself to meet her gaze, resigned to her rejection in the way a condemned man is resigned to his execution. Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were puffy, but the look she gave him hadn't changed throughout his story.

She still loved him.

"Your own mother…" she breathed, after a time, "How could any mother turn her back on a child?"

Erik laughed mirthlessly. "Oh Christine! Sweet, innocent, little Christine… you still do not understand. I cannot hold it against my mother to do what she did. The misery I brought her… my father left her before I was born, did you know? And so she was all alone when she bore me. I frightened and repulsed her from the moment I met the world. How could she feel any differently? No… if I am to hate my mother, I do it only because she was too weak to smother me in my cradle… that her wretched conscience made her too selfish to spare me so much misery."

Christine took his hand then and drew him up from the chair. "Come walk with me," she said.

**He believed he had inflicted his horrible life on another. He was angry and disgusted and depressed. I think a part of him also worried that I would hate him for giving me such a son. **

**If I learned anything from those few months at the opera, I learned that a frightened Erik is a frightening Erik. Like a wild creature, when he feels threatened he lashes out. **

**But a few gentle words and reassurance can bring him back to himself again. **

Dea waited until her mother was out of sight. It was not fair that the grown-ups should spend all the time with her new brother and she hadn't even seen him once yet! She snatched up her favorite doll, figuring she needed someone to blame if they were caught, and tiptoed to her parent's room.

She let out a breath when she saw that it was empty. Good. There was no one to stop her from looking into the white cradle was just beside the bed. She pushed a chair up next to it and climbed up.

Dea frowned a little when she saw the tiny baby inside. He was not sleeping at all, but rather looking at her with curious, golden eyes.

"Hello, brother," she said, waving her hand at him. "You look different than I do. What happened to all your hair? Or your nose? Mama says that boys and girls look differently… did you know that? You look like Papa does."

The baby gurgled slightly and Dea grinned. "My brother is beautiful," she declared authoritatively and bent over the cradle--nearly tipping it over in the process--and kissed his little head.

"Mama said you were asleep," Dea said disapprovingly. She hopped down of the chair. "You should go to sleep before she gets back or you will get in trouble. Papa always knows when you're faking, too."

With a running start, she managed to hoist herself up into the tall bed and settle back against the pillows. "Don't worry, brother," she said, "I will sing to you like Papa does."

Then she began singing one of the many lullabies her parents sang to her at night. The baby just stared into space, occasionally waving a little fist around.

Dea sang and sang until she eventually tired herself out and nodded off, leaving Guillaume gurgling happily in his basket.

**Still, my heart was in my throat for a time. **

Christine held Erik's hand as she guided him through the house. Before they left, she had covered the tall mirror with a cloth and locked up the door.

They walked slowly, each afraid that the other might collapse if they rushed. Eventually they came to their bedroom where Christine found Dea fast asleep on their bed on the side closest to the baby.

She pulled Erik in after her, bringing his arms to wrap around her so that he was holding her from behind.

"Erik," she said softly, not to wake the children, "Look at your life. You have a wife who loves you and a daughter who adores you and a son who desperately needs you to love and protect him. Was your life truly such a waste? Do you really think you would have been better off dead?"

He didn't respond, but he didn't need to. Christine knew his mind was turning it over. She turned in his arms and held him for a few seconds while he watched his sleeping children.

"Your son needs you, Erik. He doesn't have to live through the same horrors that you did… but he can't do it on his own. I admit that his life will be more difficult than others… but who better than you to teach and guide him and give him strength. Help me, Erik… help me give your son the life you never had."

Erik left his wife then and cautiously approached the cradle. The newborn was fast asleep inside, but woke slightly when Erik picked him up and held him against his shoulder.

"Forgive me, my son," he whispered in the baby's ear as he rocked him softly.

**Now the two are thick as thieves. We never speak of that day when he was born, I suspect it would be too painful for the both of us. Still, occasionally I see Erik staring at me with this odd look in his eyes and I would swear he was thanking me for something. Maybe it's all in my mind.**

The night of the workshop fire, Christine slept fitfully. She'd sent both of the children to bed without supper… which was _devastating _to Dea, who enjoyed dessert more than oxygen. Guillaume was indifferent, since he never ate much anyway. Instead, Christine had taken away his sketch pad and tool set when she put him in his room.

Not that it made any difference; the child probably had more hidden away someplace.

She never quite knew what to do with Guillaume. They'd tried to spank him once--and only once. Erik had vomited and then broken every last piece of furniture in his office (at Christine's insistence, they only purchased cheap furniture for Erik's work areas now). Erik had been abused brutally and repeatedly as a boy and, apparently, this small act served to bring back some horrific memories.

Guillaume was back playing in moments. Erik hadn't recovered for days.

So spanking was out, taking things away was pointless, time alone was practically a reward. Guillaume was impossible to punish, it seemed. She'd leave it to Erik when he returned.

Christine let out a sigh of satisfaction and relief when she felt the mattress dip down and Erik climb into bed beside her.

"What have I missed?"

"Your son needs help with his time machine."

"Ah."

Guillaume had the same tendencies as Erik in that, if he did not figure something out, he would obsess over it until it was perfect. That meant it was up to Erik to nip in the bud any projects that were a little too big for such a small boy to handle. It kept them all sane.

"I'll ask him to help take a look and my new building plans."

"Is that what you've been working on the last four days?" Erik's creative streaks didn't always lean towards the musical. Sometimes he composed, but other times he was inspired to paint or design structures.

"Yes. I am terribly sorry about that, my dearest. It won't happen again."

Christine sighed dreamily. "If only, husband… if only. Just take care of your son, will you? He set your desk on fire, you know."

"Mm. At least nothing exploded," he said thoughtfully.

"You're impossible."

"You're lovely. Kiss?"

**The mask--Erik's and Guillaume's--was a touchy subject for us at first, but this time it was Erik who spoke reason. **

**Sometimes I get so caught up in my happy little life that I forget how cruel the world can be. **

**And so we compromised--masks are optional in the house but they both wear them out in public. It's not ideal, but that's the way it is. **

Erik made good on his wish to take walks in the park with his wife. After Mass on Sunday, the family would have lunch at home and then relax either on their own property or in the outskirts of town, weather permitting. Sometimes the whole family would go or sometimes Erik would just take Christine to have some time alone with her.

This Sunday, Erik had taken the children to the park on his own. It wasn't something Erik particularly wanted to do, but Christine was at home with… female complaints.

Early in their marriage, Erik had wanted to take care of her during this time, but it did not take much time to discover that the best thing to do was to stay far away from her and keep the children out of her hair.

He hated it… but she appreciated it… which meant it was less likely for her to yell at him or blame him for earthquakes, famine, or some other such nonsense.

And so, here he was in the park… in public… on an unnervingly sunny day… without Christine. If not for the fact that the time outside was so pleasurable for the young ones, he would be spending today and the next happily composing in his basement.

"Papa!" Dea cried, "I think I see a turtle in the water!"

"Very good, princess. Make sure you take brother to see it. I'll be right here by this tree."

As far as outdoor trips go, this one wasn't quite so bad. This wasn't so much a park as it was… public woods. There was a little stream and plenty of trees and bushes for the children to play and hunt for lizards and butterflies.

This particular tree was his favorite; it was in a perfect location for him to keep an eye on the children--Guillaume especially, as he was known to wander off--and shaded enough to keep him out of the view of anyone who didn't already know he was there.

Dea and Guillaume were walking hand in hand, pointing out especially interesting flowers. Guillaume kept stopping to collect little stones of unique shades or color and putting them in his pocket… what self-respecting boy doesn't have a collection of interesting rocks at home?

The pair was surprised, therefore, to come upon a group of older boys. They looked average enough; a few were smoking (likely the reason they were hiding out there) and the others were munching on candy and joking about school.

However, when they spotted the strange pair of children, something changed.

"Well, look what we have here?"

"My, my. Look at that pretty one." another boy said, reaching out to Dea, who recoiled before he came too close.

"No doubt. I wonder what she's doing with that little freak… Don't be afraid, pretty… just come over here. We'll protect you from circus-boy."

"Leave my brother alone!" she demanded.

"What's the matter with him, anyway?" the biggest boy challenged, "Take the mask of, boy, I want to look at you."

"That's right," the rest challenged, "See what he's hiding under there."

Meanwhile, Erik watched the scene from the shadows of the woods, grinding his teeth in fury and concentrating to hear the conversation over the roaring of blood in his ears.

Anger was not even close to describing his state at the moment.

A few years ago, he would have killed the lads for less than what they were doing now. They were hardly children, Erik decided, old enough that he wouldn't feel guilty about snapping each of their unworthy necks.

And yet, he held himself back. Guillaume would face this situation again and again and Erik wanted to see what he would do.

But, when one of them reached out to take his son's mask, he decided to step in. That was good reasoning, right? Christine couldn't fault him for that…

What happened then, however, shocked him motionless.

Just as one of them tried to grab Guillaume, Dea launched herself at the offender, throwing them both to the ground as she proceeded to pummel the face of a boy three times her size.

Luckily, the other boys were just as shocked as Erik was, or else he'd have quite a nasty mess on his hands.

After the split second of dumbness wore off, he went into action.

"Guillaume, get Dea!" Erik commanded his son.

Guillaume, though only four at the time, was nearly as tall as Dea and surprisingly strong. He wrenched his tigress sister off her sputtering opponent, pulling her to his chest and covering her eyes with his hand.

"Close your eyes, Dea," he whispered, holding her steady.

From seemingly out of nowhere, a rope flew out and wrapped around the wrist of the burly young man, slowly dragging him into the copse of increasingly shadowy trees. The ghostly sight was enough to send the rest of the group running, figuring they could nurse their wounded pride at another time.

The boy started to scream as he tried to stand but kept falling back over as the painfully tight rope dragged him faster and faster. His eyes were tightly shut and he opened them only to see two flaming stars glaring down at him.

"Wh--who are you?" he stuttered.

"I am Death." a voice replied from all directions.

"Do you wish to die, boy?"

"N-no sir!"

"Those children belong to me. If you value your life, you will never return here and you will warn your friends never to cross me again or touch what is mine."

A black-gloved hand reached out from the darkness and removed the rope from the young man's wrist. He gasped at the pain as the blood began to rush back into his purpled hand.

"Run." the voice hissed.

And he did.

**I don't know how Guillaume feels--having Erik's face and all. If he is insecure, I haven't noticed. Besides, if he ever were to act ashamed in any way or say something deprecating about himself, I'm positive Dea would set him straight in no uncertain terms. That child is a force to be reckoned with and is fiercely protective of her brother. **

"Children," Erik said as they made their way back to the carriage, "I think we need to have a talk. Would you like to ride in the boat today?"

"Oh yes!" they answered. There was a large pond located on their property, just by the house. Some Sundays, instead of going for walks, the family liked to bring a picnic to the field and then take a trip across the water in their little row boat. On particularly warm afternoons, sometimes they would go swimming… but it was much too cold for that today.

Once they had ventured out into the middle of the pond, Dea finally returned to the topic at hand. "What do you wish to speak to us about, Papa? Am I in trouble about today?"

"No, child, you're not in trouble… at least not from me." he added as an afterthought, wondering exactly what Christine would be saying right now. He took a pause, trying to think of the right words.

"What happened today at the park… Guillaume, you must understand that this will not be the last time. The world is not very nice to people who are different. When I was a boy it was much worse, and when I became a man I locked myself away so that no one would see me. I do not want that for you, son. You deserve to see the light just as Dea and Mama do. But if you are going to live amongst other people, you will have to learn to see past those cruel men and women who hate you because of your face."

Guillaume, still hardly more than a baby really, began to cry a little. Erik pulled him close; somehow Erik was the only one who knew exactly how comfort him without embarrassing him. Perhaps it was hypocritical of him to ask so much of his boy when he had yet to figure it all out himself. Then again, the children had no way of knowing that… so he continued.

"I know, son. I know it isn't fair," he said both to himself and the little boy on his lap.

"It sure isn't!" Dea cried furiously, standing up with her hands on her hips.

_Papa's little firecracker._ "Sit down, princess. You'll tip the boat."

Dea plopped down, less than pleased.

"Now, my little wildcat, I am going to tell you two conflicting things but I am going to trust you to be grown up enough to think them both over in your head. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Of course, Papa. I am very wise, you know."

He chuckled. "Well, sweet, first I want to tell you that you should not fight with your fists. It is very unladylike. Gentlemen shouldn't do it either." he said, lightly poking Guillaume's ribs to make sure he was listening too, "Civilized people do not hit, understand?" Both children nodded.

"That said… there is nothing wrong with protecting what is yours, and that means your family as well. Dea, I was not happy to see you tussling on the ground with that boy, but I was proud of you for defending your brother. You know as well as I do that life won't always be fair for him, but he sure is lucky to have you watching out for him. I wish I'd had a sister like you growing up." Dea beamed at her father's high praise.

"Anyway, like I was saying, you should never be ashamed to protect the things you love. I am sure Guillaume would have done the same for you, as would Mama and myself. You know I would do anything for you three, right?" they nodded again, "But I suspect we can look after each other without beating people up… Mama has done it for me many times."

Erik frowned. _Speaking of Christine… _"Now that that's settled… I think we should probably keep everything that happened today between the three of us. Agreed?"

None of them wanted the kind of trouble that would ensue if Christine found out about this. No good could come from that.

"Agreed!" the children answered in unison.

**Today is Erik's birthday--or so we like to assume. Dea was appalled when she found out that her father did not remember his own birthday and we quickly invented one to keep the tears at bay. She has yet to figure out that her birth date is made up as well, but that's not important anyway. The tradition stuck and now Dea and I are planning a very special evening for Papa while the men are out fetching last minute supplies.**

**Our Persian friend is here… or 'Doga' as we like to call him. That was Dea's doing as well. As a little one, she couldn't quite figure out how to pronounce his name (quite frankly, neither can I--but I'm not about to admit that to anyone). Once she heard Erik calling the daroga by his title, she--being the very grown up three-year-old that she was--did her best to echo. Despite our repeated scolds and protests on the grounds of politeness, that sweet old man found the nickname rather amusing and decided to keep it. **

**I wonder how either of my children ever learned an ounce of respect with those indulgent men around. **

"DOGA!" Dea shrieked, skidding on the wood floors.

"Dea! How many times do I hav----Oh! Hello, old friend!"

"My dear Christine… you're looking lovely as always. Dea, what are you trying to do?"

"Pick me up, Uncle Doga!" she insisted.

Christine pinched the bridge of her nose. "Dea, I hardly think---"

"Oh it's no trouble, Madame, I assure you. Oof… my goodness, Dea, look at how big you're getting!"

She put her hand to her forehead most theatrically. "Oh but it is not true! Guillaume is almost as big as I am and I'm _ages_ older than he is!"

"Indeed you are. Hundreds and hundreds of years. Speaking of which… are you ten yet, little love?"

"Not quite yet," Dea replied as the Persian set her back down. They were both a little too old for this type of greeting, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "You will come back for my birthday in a few months, won't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it. By the by, have you seen your father around?"

"I will go find him." Dea said, rushing off.

"Hello, uncle," another sweet voice sounded.

"Guillaume, how good to see you."

"And you as well. Might I help you with your bags?"

"How polite you are, but I think I can handle it. Thank you. Oh, but I do have a present for you!"

Guillaume bounced just a little before clearing his throat and returning to a rigid pose. He tilted his head slightly as if to urge the daroga to continue.

The old man chuckled. "More like Erik every day," he said to Christine, who just nodded. Turning back to the boy, he continued, "That's why I thought you might like this. Your father made it back when we were in Persia."

It was a brightly colored puzzle box. Erik insisted it was made for children, but after all this time the daroga could not solve it for the life of him. Guillaume was thrilled.

"I think it plays a song, if you do it right," he tried to recollect.

"Thank you, uncle! I shall put it in my room right away."

"So old man," Erik said, stepping out of a shadowed portion of the wall, "Not only have you infiltrated my home, but you have also taken to giving my things away."

"Ah, there you are Erik. Still lurking in dark corners I see. As for the puzzle… you are correct there. I am convinced it is impossible to solve. You have driven me mad with it for years and I thought it was time to burden your own home with it."

"I got it!" cried a far away voice.

The Persian just knew Erik was smirking under that mask.

**Anyway, his shining face is quite familiar to our little household; he visits whenever he can to see the children. I suspect that he and Erik also start to miss each other--but I would never mention that out loud. **

"We both know the boy is a genius… but there's no need to be so damn smug about it."

"It's a child's toy, daroga. That you couldn't solve it says more about you than it does about him."

"Now wait." Christine said firmly, though with a hint of amusement, "If you are about to start insulting each other, we will be out here all night. Why don't you men go into the study and catch up. I'll be in after a few minutes to bring you both something to eat." _Just don't ruin your supper children,_ she joked inwardly. "Erik, don't you have that special bottle of brandy you were waiting to share with your friend?"

"Ha!" Erik barked as the two slowly made their way out of the hall, "As if I'd waste the good stuff on the likes of you. She must be talking about someone else."

"Don't delude yourself, you grump, we both know you haven't any other friends…"

Christine smiled and shook her head fondly as the two bickered the entire way to the study.

**Occasionally he brings me news of Raoul. Apparently he met a lovely young lady while he was visiting (recuperating) with his sister. After a respectably long courtship, they married and had four children and have another on the way. That hot-blooded Frenchman.**

**Seriously, though, I am happy for him. After all the trouble I put him through, he deserves to be as happy as possible. At first I thought it odd that he could marry so soon, but I realized how selfish and idiotic that sounded and quit dwelling on it. Young hearts heal fast, or so the daroga explained to me. I am glad of it as well. Erik would not have recovered from the sort of rejection I put Raoul through. **

**We never speak of Raoul, for obvious reasons. I've never mentioned this to anyone, but I suppose I might tell you, dear journal. I truly loved Raoul. A part of me always will. Once I thought to play the repentant lover--to say that I never seriously loved Raoul as more than a friend or brother, or perhaps, that I hadn't truly understood the meaning of love at the time... but I found I could not swallow the lie. I could never debase by love for Raoul by calling it something other than it was, and I was truly in love with him. I was going to marry the man, after all! **

**But that is not to say that I love Erik any less. Perhaps it makes me a terrible woman that I can admit to having loved two men, but I don't think so. The way I felt about Raoul was different than the way I feel about Erik. I'm not sure how to explain it… it's as if I love Erik in a red way and Raoul in a blue way. Both nice colors--just different. **

**But how relevant are feelings anyway? Raoul is like a fond memory, but my affection and admiration for Erik grows deeper every day. **

**At any rate, I made the right choice, of that I have no doubt. I don't even resent Erik for the little 'push' he gave me that direction **_**that night**_**. I couldn't be happier. **

"Goodbye gentlemen, don't be too long. Oh, and Erik, don't forget to pick up the cake."

"She is making you get your own cake?" the Persian snickered under his breath.

"She had a special one made, you dolt. I get a good dessert. I'm old, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

"Just no fisticuffs in front of my son, you two. Understood?"

"Gentlemen don't hit." Guillaume threw in, looking offended that his mother would suggest such a thing.

"Well said, son. Now we must be off if we are to return while it is still light. Goodbye, Christine, we won't be long."

"Goodbye husband," she said, kissing the lips of Erik's mask, "Goodbye son," she said, kissing Guillaume's mask on the forehead.

Father and son both sighed irritably and, with identical one-handed motions, lifted their masks, beckoning Christine to repeat her goodbyes. She obliged gladly, kissing them each and sending them on their way.

"Are they gone, Mama?" Dea whispered, peeking out the door. She was very excited about tonight's festivities.

"They are. Have you thought of any decorations yet?"

She bounced on her toes, "I have. Let's do something with sparkles!"

**As a child, I used to think life was a fairytale. When my father died and reality struck so painfully, my perspective of the world changed. **

**If you asked me then, I'd say that life was a game--a combination of luck and strategy where you plot and hope and fight to gain control of the board. **

**Now I realize I may have missed the mark on both. Life isn't a fairytale where Good triumphs over Evil and everyone lives happily ever after. Nor is it a game with winners and losers. It simply is what it is. It stands before you each morning offering no apologies for yesterday nor promises for tomorrow. It merely says, 'This is what I am. Will you join me for the journey?'. Each morning I answer the question with a resounding 'Yes!' and I haven't regretted it once. **

**With my sincerest fondness,**

**Christine**


End file.
